Assaulted Pretzel

by Laura Bradford

  “Everything was fine, Virginia. Just a difference of opinion like so many of us have from time to time.” Diane filled the elderly woman’s glass and then stepped to her right. “Miss Simon, did you have a good rest?”

  Melinda Simon, the one mate-less guest at the table, leaned to the side to afford Diane an unobstructed path to her glass. “Actually, that was the first uninterrupted eight hours of sleep I’ve had in weeks.”

  Claire drew back. Eight hours? There was no way…

  Pushing a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, Melinda took a moment to look around at each guest before training her light blue eyes on Claire and Diane. “I guess it’s what my dad always said—a vacation, whether working or otherwise, is good for the soul.”

  “So is marrying one’s mate,” Doug Jones said before linking hands with his new bride, Kayla.

  “That, I’ll have to take your word on,” Melinda joked. “For now, though, I’ll just be happy with the sleep.”

  For a moment, Claire considered questioning the young executive on her claim, but, in the end, she let it go. After all, what difference did it make whether the woman admitted to hovering in the doorway while her boss and his wife engaged in a verbal battle on the other side of the hall? Maybe Melinda didn’t want to get involved in her boss’s personal life. Maybe embarrassment was at work. Either way, it really wasn’t any of Claire’s concern.

  “So is everyone heading over to the Amish Food Festival this afternoon?” Diane asked before swapping the pitcher of juice for the coffeepot in Claire’s hands. At the collection of nods her inquiry yielded, the innkeeper continued. “The festival is always a highlight for our town, but this year I suspect it will be better than ever with all the celebrating.”

  Claire set the orange juice down on the serving table and retrieved the sugar and creamer. Following behind her aunt, she stopped beside each freshly poured cup of coffee and added the desired ingredients, her curiosity suddenly in overdrive. “Celebrating?”

  Diane filled the last upturned mug and placed the pot on the end of the table, her excitement palpable. “Miss Simon? Would you like to share the news?”

  Melinda paused her fork above her plate and studied Diane intently, the young woman’s confusion evident in everything from her scrunched eyebrows to her narrowed eyes. “News? What news?”

  “About Karble Toys’ new Amish line.”

  Claire looked from Melinda to Diane and back again, her aunt’s words catching her by surprise. “You’re making an Amish toy line?”

  Before Melinda could answer, Doug released his wife’s hand and sat up tall. “Are there even enough Amish kids in this country to make a line like that viable for a company as big as Karble?” he asked. “I mean, I’m all about inclusion and everything but isn’t that a bit of a risk from a business standpoint?”

  “It’s not for Amish kids.” Melinda set her fork down on her plate and pushed her chair back from the table. “It’s for regular kids. And for the parents of those same kids who are tired of all the passive playing that comes from today’s electronic world. It’s a way for them to introduce their kids to the basics from their own childhood. Which is why I named it the Back to Basics toy line.”

  “Back to Basics,” Claire repeated slowly, the image of children bypassing their talking toys in favor of kitchen sets and wooden jigsaw puzzles making her nod along with her words. “Back to Basics…Wow, I like that. But, those toys are already available. Here, in Heavenly.”

  “Heavenly is one town. These kinds of toys will be of interest to children everywhere,” Melinda said.

  “But Daniel Lapp offers a catalogue people can order from whether they’re in Heavenly or not.” She heard the increasing panic in her voice and looked to her aunt for some sort of understanding. Didn’t Diane get why the Back to Basics line was bad for the Amish?

  “But Karble Toys is big enough they can mass-produce and do it much cheaper.”

  Diane smiled at Doug. “That’s true, Mr. Jones, but that’s not what they’re doing. Karble Toys is going to utilize Amish folks from right here in Heavenly to make the toys and—”

  Melinda stood. “Everyone needs to remember that the Back to Basics line is still very much a work in progress. And if I’ve learned anything since this notion was tossed out during an unexpected brainstorming session three weeks ago, it’s that nothing is a definite until it’s a definite. And even then, it’s not a definite.”

  A long, low whistle escaped between Doug’s pursed lips, rivaling the echo of Claire’s excited clap. “I imagine that kind of work could make a real difference for the Amish in this area.”

  “Oh, it will!” A mirror of Diane’s smile slipped across Claire’s face. “Every new source of income for the Amish is a blessing.”

  “I thought the Amish stuck to farming,” Kayla mused.

  Claire leaned between the honeymooners and added a teaspoon of sugar to each of their mugs before addressing the new bride. “Unfortunately, when their population is doubling every twenty years or so, the availability of land decreases, forcing them to turn to other ways in which to make money.”

  “Like making toys…” Virginia mused.

  “Yes. And by selling their handmade goods in stores like Heavenly Treasures.” Claire glanced around the table one last time and then set the sugar and creamer back on the serving table. “Essentially, they’ll do just about any trade or task people are willing to pay them to do.”

  Diane disappeared into the kitchen only to return with a plate of piping hot sausage. “We even have a member of the Amish community right here in Heavenly who raises white-tailed deer.”

  Doug’s brows rose. “For the meat?”

  “For the antlers they shed each year.” Diane made her way around the table once again, placing a slice of sausage on each plate she passed. “Pharmaceutical companies pay good money for those antlers, which they’ll then grind up and put into various medications and health food supplements.”

  A second and longer whistle filled the room. “I had no idea,” Doug said. “I just assumed they all farmed.”

  “Most people do.” Claire took the empty sausage plate from her aunt’s hands then took in Melinda Simon, who was still standing awkwardly behind her chair. “So this Back to Basics line was your idea then, Melinda?”

  Slowly, the woman raised her gaze to meet Claire’s. “You could say that.”

  “Man, I’d give just about anything to be the brains behind something like that at work one day.” Doug rested his fork beside his plate and reached for his coffee. “I mean, to know that everyone is so pumped for something you came up with…”

  “Oh, sweetie, it’ll happen one day.” Kayla Jones leaned her head into her husband’s shoulder and looked up at him with utter worship. “You just have to come up with the right idea and—”

  A snort from the other side of the table brought a hint of red to the newlywed’s cheeks and turned the collective focus of the table back on Melinda. “And hope that your boss doesn’t have any atoning to do. Because if he does, it doesn’t matter how great your idea was. He’ll kick it and you to the curb like you’re yesterday’s trash.”

  Chapter 3

  If it were any other day, the virtual silence along Lighted Way would have sent Claire into a tailspin of worry. But today it was okay. Welcome, even.

  The absence of cars and their Amish buggy counterparts along the cobblestoned thoroughfare meant the festival she’d been hearing about since the day she moved to Heavenly had finally arrived. And while the excitement around town had begun building over the past month, Claire’s could be traced back even longer—to the moment she opened Heavenly Treasures and had met her new employee, Esther King.

  Esther had been Claire’s first real connection to an Amish community she’d previously viewed only from the windows of Sleep Heavenly. Back then, when she’d been trying to find her footing after the divorce, she’d often found herself drawn to the window seat in her room, the cool pane of glass
a soothing tonic for her latest tear-induced headache. Those moments, by the window, had taught her a lot of things about herself but nothing more profound than the pull she felt in her heart every time she saw a horse and buggy meander down the road toward a world synonymous with simplicity and peace. A world so very different than the one she’d shared with Peter, where his work and his dreams trumped everything else, including her. It had been at that same window, with Diane by her side, where she’d first uttered aloud her desire to own a specialty gift shop of her very own. And it was at that window where Diane’s encouraging words and loving arms had convinced Claire that her dreams were important, too.

  Several weeks later, with a very different crop of tears in her eyes, she’d hung the shingle bearing Heavenly Treasures’ name outside the simple white clapboard building positioned halfway down Lighted Way. But as wonderful as the realization of that dream was—and continued to be—it paled in comparison to the friendships she’d made because of the store—Amish friends who’d opened their minds and their hearts to Claire and made her feel as if she was someone special.

  Which was why, instead of accompanying Diane to the annual Amish Food Festival in the fields below Lighted Way, Claire was standing in front of the one building on the whole street that was actually open for business. Unlike many of its white cinder block counterparts in neighboring towns, the exterior of the Heavenly Police Department fell in line seamlessly next to the shops and restaurants that bordered it to its left and right. Like those establishments, the police station boasted the same white clapboard siding, the same wide front porch, the same tastefully written shingle above the front door.

  Yet there was one irrefutable difference that set the police station apart from its neighbors. Here, the Amish who traveled the street in their buggies, worked in the neighboring shops and restaurants, and displayed their wares in so many front windows were noticeably absent.

  Save, of course, for one.

  Squaring her shoulders, Claire tugged open the door of the police station and ventured inside, the contrast between the sunny exterior and the fluorescent-lit lobby making her blink a time or two.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Is Jakob—I mean, Detective Fisher available?”

  The balding dispatcher glanced down at something on his desk and then peered up at her over the half wall that separated the inner workings of the police department from the waiting area. “He is. Do you have an appointment?”

  She pushed aside a strand of auburn hair that had escaped from her ponytail and shook her head. “No. But if he has a moment, could you tell him that Claire Weatherly is here?”

  At the dispatcher’s invitation, she took a seat, her heart beginning to thud in her chest at the task in front of her. On one hand she knew it was the right thing to do. On the other hand, she knew Jakob wasn’t going to make it easy.

  “Miss Weatherly?”

  Shaking her head free of the debate raging in her thoughts, she stood and made her way back toward the desk. “Yes?”

  “Detective Fisher said you can come on back.” The man pointed to the door to his left, instructing her to open it as he buzzed her inside. Once there, he gestured her down the familiar hallway that boasted a handful of cubicles and a half dozen or so offices. When she reached Jakob’s door, she knocked on the open frame.

  In a flash, Jakob was on his feet, covering the distance between his desk and the door in several long, easy strides. As he walked, his amber-flecked hazel eyes trained on her face and raised the silent greeting with a side order of knee-weakening dimples. “Claire, what a nice surprise.” She felt her hand disappear inside his and marveled at the way his touch always managed to send an electric charge through her body, every single time.

  “It’s good to see you.” At the unexpected waver in her voice, she scooted around his broad frame and motioned toward the chair across from his desk where she’d sat on several occasions. “Can we talk for a few minutes?”

  “Of course.” He made his way back around his desk and waited for her to sit before he did the same. “Is everything okay? I haven’t seen you around much lately.”

  She was about to question his inquiry but left it unspoken as the reason behind his words assembled itself in her thoughts. She’d been so busy with the shop the past few weeks she hadn’t been able to take Jakob up on his suggestion of a walk or a chat over coffee. Then again, if she was honest with herself, she knew she hadn’t been too busy for either one. What she had been was nervous.

  Because as much as she tried to believe her mantra about wanting to take care of herself rather than get involved in a relationship, she knew, deep down, that wasn’t entirely true. She had feelings for Jakob; she just wasn’t ready to examine them in the way they needed to be examined. And until she was, she needed to keep him at arm’s length.

  “I’m fine. Good, actually.” She willed herself to push past the sudden bout of mental soul-searching and focus on the reason for her being in his office. But before she could speak, he moved on to yet another question.

  “Is everything okay at Sleep Heavenly?”

  For the briefest of moments she actually considered telling him about the argument that had awoken her during the night and the way Melinda Simon had lied about her role as witness, but, in the end, she opted to keep the incident to herself. It wasn’t her place to air the laundry of Diane’s guests.

  “Everything is good there, too. Aunt Diane sends her love.”

  Jakob ran a hand through his sandy blond hair and flashed a shy smile. “I’ll have to stop by one of these days and say hello.”

  “She’d like that.” She scooted forward in her chair, searching for a way to present her case in a manner that would make him listen rather than protest. “But that’s not why I’m here.”

  He laughed. “I kind of figured that.” At the sudden warmth in her cheeks, he leaned forward across his desk, locking his gaze with hers. “So what can I do for you?”

  “I was hoping maybe you’d consider coming to the festival with me today.”

  There. She’d said it.

  Instantly, Jakob’s smile disappeared along with his eye contact and overall jovial mood. “I can’t do that, Claire.”

  She watched as he pushed back from his desk and rose to his feet, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides in a motion she’d come to realize was the detective’s way of dealing with stress. “But why not? You live in this town, don’t you? You work in this town, protecting its people, don’t you?”

  “That has nothing to do with anything, Claire, and you know it.”

  She, too, rose to her feet, thwarting his second lap around the midsize office. “Aunt Diane says that almost all of Heavenly comes to this thing every year—which means that it’s the English who are walking around enjoying the food.”

  “Food that’s made by the Amish.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot, the urge to keep pacing virtually dripping from his pores.

  “The Amish are around you in this town every day, Jakob. Why does this festival have to be any different?”

  And, just like that, the stress and the apprehension that had been so visible in the detective’s face and stance were gone, in their place an unmistakable pain and sadness. Her heart ached for the man.

  “Because everyone in Heavenly’s Amish community will be working at the festival.” His shoulders sank along with the strength of his voice. “Including my entire family.”

  “But you see Esther whenever you come into my shop,” she reminded, gently, as an image of Jakob’s niece formed in her thoughts. “And, Martha even spoke to you in my shop that one day.”

  A flash of something resembling joy flickered across Jakob’s face at the memory before disappearing behind reality. “My sister said three words to me that day, Claire. Three words.”

  She took his hand in hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. “But at least she said them, Jakob. And she said them to you. Which means there’s a chance.”

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nbsp; Yanking his hand from hers, he spun around and retraced his steps back to his desk. “Look, I’m thankful that I can peek into the window of your shop and occasionally get a wave in return from my niece, I really am. And although I’ve only heard my sister say three words to me in the sixteen years since I left home, I replay those same three words in my head every single night before I go to sleep. But a tentative wave—given only when Esther is sure no one is looking—and three words from someone I haven’t seen since doesn’t really mean anything in the grand scheme of things.”

  She stayed where she was but didn’t give up. “Yes it does. Don’t you see that those things happened because Esther and her mom were given a chance to see you again? To see the kind and generous person you are despite your decision to become a police officer?”

  Silence filled the space between them as Jakob seemed to consider her words and she readied for further battle. Finally, though, he spoke, his voice a poor disguise for the anguish she still saw in his eyes. “I’d give just about anything to see my mother again, to see with my own eyes that she is doing well. I’d love to see my brother, Isaac…see if he’s grown into the fine young man I knew he’d become when we took him in after his mother’s death. But they cannot speak to me. I know this. It is a consequence for my leaving after baptism.”

  It was a fact of Amish life that still bothered her, yet it was one she knew she had no business judging. Instead, she let her heart lead her mouth and hoped it would be a step in soothing some of the hurt she knew Jakob carried with him every day of his life. “If you really want to see that your mom is well and that your brother has become a good man, then come to the festival with me. Come knowing that there won’t be any conversation, but that you’ll be able to see what you need to see with your own eyes. And come knowing that you’re not alone.”