“I’m not worried,” she said, a kind smile on her face. “I know you’ll pay me.”
How she wished she could count on other things the way she could count on Zachariah’s payments. Shortly after the tragic accident, he’d come to her and asked if he could farm her family’s land. At first, she was hesitant. It seemed disloyal to allow someone else to work the land her father and husband had been so keen to farm. But after she realized the seriousness of her situation, she had agreed. And so far, it was working well. But she knew the summer and harvest season wouldn’t last forever, and then his payments would stop—until the next planting season. Hopefully.
“Zachariah?”
He glanced at her, and she noticed how starkly blue his eyes were. They reminded her of the deep color on the border of Ida Mae’s favorite quilt—true and bright and pleasant.
“Jah?”
“I know it’s early and all,” she said, and her voice carried the barest hint of a quiver, “but I was wondering if you’d be needing my fields next spring, too.”
Zachariah slapped his hat against his thigh, shaking loose the dust of the fields, and paused, as if pondering her question. Then he looked at her, and she felt the power behind his gaze. “Would it be helpful if I was?”
She hesitated, suddenly feeling exposed and uncomfortable. His gaze often did that to her, and she wasn’t sure why. Only that when he looked at her, it was as if they were all alone in the world. Everything else faded into the background. “I was just wondering, that’s all,” she continued. She took a step back, feeling foolish.
“Jah,” he said quickly, his eyes still steady on hers. He leaned forward. “I will likely be needing your land next year, too.”
A wave of relief blotted out her discomfort. He needs the land. She’d have that income for those months at least.
“Naomi, I’ll be paying you for the use of your land all year.” His brows drew into a frown. “Didn’t you understand that? It’s how it works. A person doesn’t just lease the use of the land for a few months. It’s an around-the-year arrangement.”
Her lips parted in surprise. “Doesn’t seem quite fair to me. You aren’t using it during the winter.”
“Did your husband and dat farm back in Pennsylvania?”
“They raised goats mostly. Sold both the goats and the milk. But my dat farmed as a lad. He was eager to get back to it.” Her voice caught, and she felt her cheeks go hot.
“It’s a year-round job. Trust me on that.”
“But—”
“Count on my payment all year,” he said gruffly. He paused for a moment, before pressing his hat back on his head. He smiled then, and she was startled at the glow of interest in his eyes.
He turned to leave, and she watched him go, surprised at her sudden urge to call out his name. But what for? She had nothing more to say. Nor did he. Why then, would she want him to come back? It made no sense, but a strange feeling of loss filled her as his figure grew more distant. She leaned against the doorframe and observed his easy saunter across her drive, down to the barn, and on to the fields. Zachariah King. He was a good man. A bit quiet, maybe, but good.
The clip clop of a horse interrupted her reverie, and she saw Mary Mullen approach in her pony cart. She held the reins loosely, and her bun looked a bit scraggly beneath her kapp. Naomi grinned. Mary always looked as if she had just scrambled barefoot through a field chasing a runaway hen.
“Naomi!” she hollered in her cheery voice. “Naomi! I have a job for you!”
Naomi walked down the steps to greet her. “Hello, Mary. What brings you by?”
Mary shifted her pudgy body on the cart’s bench, facing Naomi squarely. “How do you feel about whipping up a dozen pies this afternoon?”
“A dozen? Why?” Naomi was already ticking through the ingredients she could use to make that many pies so quickly.
“I’ve fallen behind. You know my Jeremy had a fever yesterday, and I spent hours running back and forth with cold cloths and tea. That child done wore me to a frazzle. And now Lucas is sniffling something fierce. If the girls get it, I’m done for.”
“Ach. I’m sorry. So you need the pies for your roadside stand?”
“That I do. And you’d keep the money, of course. You do realize that a good homemade Amish pie can bring you fifteen dollars and more?”
Naomi blinked. She knew Mary had run a roadside stand during the summer for the last few years. But, being new to Hollybrook, she didn’t know much about her friend’s business. More than fifteen dollars a pie? She could make some serious money.
“I’ll do it,” she said quickly. “What time do you need them?”
Mary scratched her head, displacing her kapp by a few inches. “I get a surge of traffic in the late afternoon and early evening. And the pies will keep well for tomorrow if I don’t sell them all today. Sorry to give you so little notice.”
Naomi shook her head. “No worries. It will be a help to me, too.”
“All right then. Can you deliver them by five?”
Naomi calculated the time. It would be close. “I’ll do my best.”
“Gut. See you then.” Mary swatted her pony with the reins and before she was out of sight, Naomi was already running out back around the house.
“Katy!” she called. “Katy! Come quick. I need you!”
She hurried back into the kitchen to put a cloth over her bread dough. It could rise while she got busy on the crusts. Katy came bursting into the kitchen.
“What is it, Mama?”
“We’re going to make a dozen pies. Get the tins out of the cupboard.” Naomi flew about the kitchen, pulling out a can of lard. She heaved her twenty-five pound bag of flour in from the pantry. “Call your brother. We’re all going to need to help on this!”
Katy spread the pie tins across the counter and then flew outside hollering for her brother. Naomi dragged a bushel of apples from the corner, and turning on the faucet, she ran handfuls of them beneath the water. How she wished she had the peeler she’d seen in the Groyer’s kitchen back in Pennsylvania. She’d never beheld such a wonder. You fastened the apple into the contraption and turned a crank, and after mere moments, there it was: a peeled apple. Well, she’d have to do it the old-fashioned way with a paring knife.
She could set Katy to making some lemon pudding, though. And Ben could help fetch whatever was needed.
Ben came tumbling into the kitchen after Katy. “We’re making pies?” he asked, with a silly grin. “I been wanting some pie.”
“Not for you, Ben. We’re going to sell these pies and make some money.” Naomi was actually excited about the prospect, knowing she was doing something constructive to earn their keep.
“Can’t I have a piece?” Ben whined.
Naomi laughed. “We’ll see. Maybe we can make one extra.”
Katy giggled. “Sounds like a fine idea to me.”
Naomi was already sifting flour into a large glass bowl. “Ben, grab me that wooden spoon, would you?” She nodded toward the counter. “And get the salt.”
The kitchen became a dusty flurry as the three of them hustled about, measuring, cutting, peeling, and rolling. Halfway through, Naomi glanced up at the kitchen clock. “Faster, children! We’re not going to make our deadline.”
“Mamm, there aren’t enough apples for this one,” Katy said, a stripe of flour across her cheek. “And we’re out.”
“Put in a pear,” Ben suggested.
“We don’t have any pears!”
“How about a peach?” he suggested.
“We don’t have peaches, either.”
Naomi’s gaze flew about the kitchen. She spotted a quart jar of apple marmalade on the shelf. “We can use the marmalade,” she said. “Will it be enough?”
Katy ran to get it, twisted off the ring and then flipped off the lid with the edge of a butter knife. She was about to stick her finger into the rich jam-like substance when Naomi stopped her.
“Don’t you go sticking your fin
ger in there, Katy Byler! We can’t be selling your germs at the roadside stand, now can we?”
Katy gave a sheepish giggle and scooped the marmalade over the apple filling already in the crust. She spread it around evenly and then stood back with a look of admiration on her young face. “What do you think, Mamm?”
“I think it’s going to be the best pie we bake today. Ben, help Katy put on the top crust.”
They were back at it, the heat from the cooking stove filling the kitchen until all three of them had red faces wet with perspiration. When the last two pies were put in the oven, they all three collapsed onto the kitchen bench.
“We done it,” Ben said. “Can I have my piece now?”
Naomi reached over and tousled his hair, making it stand up in spikes. “We made a dozen, and we’re out of ingredients.” But she rushed on. “I tell you what. I’ll sprinkle the extra scraps of dough with sugar and cinnamon and bake them for you to munch on. How’s that?”
Ben grinned. “Okay.” He jumped up. “Let’s do it now.”
Naomi shook her head in amusement and got up to grab a cookie sheet. She spread the scraps of dough over the surface and sprinkled them with the sweet mixture.
“Soon as the last pie comes out, we’ll stick these in. You can eat them on the way to the stand. Now, both of you go wash up a bit. You look like you’ve been inside a bakery that exploded.”
They went to the washroom near the side entrance. She heard them jabbering about the pie crusts and all the work they’d done. She was proud of them. Ever since … well … ever since the accident, they’d pulled together to help her in so many ways. Katy, especially. The child was grown-up well beyond her eleven years.
Naomi grabbed up the dirty cooking utensils and dropped them into the sink. She’d like to do something especially nice for Katy one of these days. In gratitude. She began washing the dishes when she remembered the rising bread.
“Ach! The bread!” she cried, running into the panty. The dough had risen and slopped over the side of the bowl in a spongy mess, taking with it the dishtowel she’d draped over the top hours earlier. She stared at the disaster as if it had somehow betrayed her. Then realizing how silly she was being and that the whole thing was her fault, she gathered up the entire jumble and carried it outside to dump into the garbage bin.
She knew it was going to take a bit of washing to get that dishtowel clean again.
****
Ben and Katy had hitched up Molly to the pony cart, and Katy had expertly driven the cart up to the front porch.
“We’re ready, Mama!” she called in through the door.
“I’ve got the pies boxed up. Come help me carry!” Naomi called back.
The children dashed inside, and Naomi slowed them to a crawl after she gave them each a box containing two pies. “We’ll set these in the back of the cart and then come back for the rest,” she directed.
All the boxes fit quite tidily into the bed of the cart. Naomi spread a clean sheet over the top of all the boxes and then climbed into the driver’s spot. “All aboard!” she said with a grin. “Now, let’s go sell some pies.”
The drive to Mary’s roadside stand didn’t take long. When they pulled into the parking area at the side of the road, Katy was delighted to holler a greeting when she saw her friend Liz hanging about. As soon as Katy helped Naomi unload the boxes, she was off with Liz, chatting and laughing. Ben hung around the tables laden with baked goods and a stunning display of tomatoes, squash, green beans, beets, and other freshly plucked vegetables.
“Your pies are lovely,” Mary said, panting a bit as she moved some of the piles of vegetables about to make extra room. “I knew they would be.”
“How are your boys? Any better?” Naomi asked.
“I should hope so. I’m worn down to a stick caring for them.” Mary gave a hearty chuckle.
Naomi joined in the laughter, feeling more chipper than she had in weeks. If she could sell all twelve of her pies, she would have nearly two hundred dollars by the end of the day. If that was the kind of profit she could be looking at, perhaps she should start a roadside stand of her own. But as soon as she thought of the idea, she dismissed it. How could she encroach on Mary’s territory? It wouldn’t be seemly at all.
“Do you want to go and check on them?” Naomi asked. “I can watch the stand for you.”
Mary glanced over her shoulder to where her farmhouse sat, not so far away. “I’ve put Betty in charge, but I declare that girl would lose her head given half a minute.”
Naomi chuckled. “Go on with you, then. You’ll rest easier knowing everything’s all right.”
Mary gave Naomi’s arm a squeeze. “You’re right at that. Cash box is over yonder.” She nodded her head to a small table at the back of the stand. “Prices are clear. You can price your pies as you see fit.”
“Thank you, Mary.”
Mary nodded and rushed off toward her house. Ben plopped himself down on one of the available chairs and promptly looked bored.
Katy wandered into the stand, Liz at her heels. “Mamm, can I run to Liz’s house? Did you know there’s a big toad living in one of their trees?”
“Is that right?” Naomi asked. “Well, then, I guess you better hustle on over there to see it.”
“A toad?” Ben perked up. “I wanna see it!”
Katy gave her mother a forlorn look. “Does he have to?”
“Katy Byler, of course, he has to. You mind him well and be back here before dark.”
“That’s forever!” Ben cried, jumping from his chair. “It don’t get dark till we’re in bed.”
Katy rolled her eyes and looped her arm through Liz’s. “You better not talk our ears off,” she warned Ben, looking at him over her shoulder. “And I mean it.”
Katy and Liz took off at a quick pace with Ben scrambling to catch up. Naomi’s heart followed her children as they left. They were doing much better than before. Especially Ben. During those first weeks after the accident, the boy would hardly speak at all. He moved around the house like an empty shell, black smudges beneath his eyes. Naomi had feared for his health, pleading to God both day and night. And slowly, slowly, he’d come out of it. Now, he was almost normal again.
Normal? Would any of them ever be normal again?
Three
A white car pulled up, spitting gravel and dust. A man, looking to be in his early thirties, climbed out. He was tall and his chin was covered with the stubble of a few days of missed shaves. He wore sunglasses, and his dark hair hung casually over his forehead, skimming the tops of his ears. He had on jeans and a button-down shirt, tucked in. Naomi noted that he also wore cowboy boots.
“Hello, ma’am,” he said to Naomi n a rich drawl. He took off his sunglasses, revealing extraordinary brown eyes, flecked and ringed with gold.
Naomi faced him, feeling the energy of his presence.
“I’m wondering where a guy might find a place to stay for a few days.” He hung his sunglasses on the front of his shirt collar, and then he stretched and rolled his head as if he’d been sitting for much too long. Naomi was transfixed by his very size—his height, his wide set of shoulders, the way his long torso looked in his rumpled shirt.
For a moment, she didn’t answer, but when she saw his intent gaze on her, she realized he needed an answer.
“There’s a hotel in town. Two, actually, I think.”
“You’re right about that,” he said with a slow smile. “Thing is, they’re both full up. I guess lots of folks came in for the county fair.”
She gave a start. She’d forgotten about the fair; although, how she could have was beyond her. Plenty of the people in her district entered quilts and jams and jellies and other canned goods to be judged. Cash prizes were given, too. Truth be told, her Amish friends usually won everything.
Or so she was told, not having been in the area to attend one herself.
Again, she realized the Englischer was staring at her, and her face grew warm. “If they’r
e full up, you might try traveling to Linder’s Corner. It’s not too far.”
He stepped closer, and she caught the faint smell of some kind of pine cologne. “I was hoping to stay right in Hollybrook,” he said. “I’m a journalist, you see. I’m covering the fair for the magazine I write for. Across America, it’s called. Have you read it?”
She shook her head.
He laughed, and the sound was deep and warm and rich. “Didn’t reckon you had. But you ought to, you know. Some mighty good writers in there!”
She couldn’t help but smile.
“No, what I was hoping for was some kind of Bed and Breakfast.” He gazed around and then looked back at her. “Do you know of one?”
She’d heard of Bed and Breakfast places before. In fact, the Widow Maeve Bowman ran one back in Pennsylvania, right in her previous district as a matter of fact. She had obtained special permission from the bishop to install electricity and a phone with a pledge to use them only for her business. It worked out well for her. She supported herself and her five children on it.
Her mind whirled. Why couldn’t she do the same? She had the daadi haus. That could hold two sets of guests. And if necessary, she could fix up one of the upstairs rooms for an additional guest. Two, really. As her thoughts raced ahead, a hopeful smile tugged at her lips. She could do it. Surely, she could. Why, now that she thought of it, her house had once had electricity. It had been stripped out when they bought it. How much would it cost to reinstall?
“Ma’am?” the stranger questioned, a concerned look on his face.
“Ach, I’m sorry.” She straightened her posture. “How much would you be spending per night?”
His brow crinkled, and he gave her a long look. “Usually I pay anywhere from ninety dollars and up for a room.”
“Per night?” she asked, her eyebrows rising.
“Yes, ma’am. That’s normal.”
She swallowed and made a rash decision to plunge forward. “It just so happens that I take in guests.”
His lips parted. “Do you, now?”
“Jah, I do. It will cost one hundred dollars per night. Breakfast included. In truth, you can eat all your meals with us if you choose.”
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