“Why not?”
“It is the rules of their order.” He spoke as if that was answer enough.
Becky peeked over the front seat. “The kids aren’t even allowed to ride bicycles.”
“I never knew there were different types of Amish,” I said. “Most English people think all Amish are the same.”
Grandfather Zook nodded. “One size doesn’t fit all.” He laughed.
I frowned.
“Don’t feel bad. Some Amish think all Englisch are the same.”
Finally, Young’s Flea Market and Restaurant came into view. “Wow.” The parking lot could easily hold three hundred cars. It was packed with Amish buggies, cars, trucks, tractor trailers, and motorcycles.
Grandfather Zook grinned.
A huge sign welcomed us to the market. Beyond the enormous parking lot stood a large white building that resembled a farmhouse, the words YOUNG'S FAMILY KITCHEN emblazoned on the front. Oak rockers lined the restaurants wide front porch, and diners rocked back and forth while waiting for an early lunch table.
As the buggy rounded the corner of the restaurant, the first pavilion came into view. Amish and English visitors moved in and out of the pavilion weighed down with fresh produce and wrapped packages.
I had never seen so many happy customers. “This is amazing.”
Becky nodded at me. “You should see it on auction day.” Some of the old cheerfulness was back in her voice.
Grandfather Zook didn’t even have to tell Sparky what to do. The old racehorse trotted the perimeter of the parking lot and looped around the back of the restaurant. He stopped beside Timothy’s truck parked near the restaurant’s “Deliveries only” door. Apparently, Ellie extended parking rights to the entire family. The children waved, and as Grandfather Zook parked the buggy, Timothy grabbed the reins and tied Sparky to a hitching post.
Becky and Naomi jumped from the buggy.
“You guys are too slow.” Thomas balanced Naomi on his hip. She took up half his body length and her feet almost touched the gravel on the ground. “We’ve been here for ages.”
I grinned at them. “You had a little more horsepower than we did.”
Thomas laughed and set his sister on her feet.
The back screen door to the restaurant opened and a plump Amish woman with steel gray hair and a white prayer cap stepped outside. Her plain dress was light blue and she wore a white apron with “Young’s Family Kitchen” stitched on the pocket. “I thought I heard you and Sparky coming. Glad to see you out and about, Joseph. You brought the whole brood with you. Coming in for a bite?” She picked up a large wooden crate that was leaning against the back wall of the restaurant. Timothy took it from her and placed it on the ground beside Grandfather Zook’s side of the buggy.
“My daughter wouldn’t like it if we filled up on all your good food and weren’t able to eat her home cooking.” Grandfather Zook smiled.
She snorted. “I’m certain you have a hollow leg, Joseph Zook. You can eat my meal and hers.”
I climbed out of the buggy, my exit not as graceful as Becky’s.
Grandfather Zook handed Timothy his titanium crutches and stepped out of the buggy. Timothy held the crutches in one hand and steadied his grandfather with the other. Safely on the ground, Grandfather Zook slipped his crutches onto his forearms.
Ellie looked me over “Who’s this?”
“This is Chloe,” Thomas announced. “She’s an Englischer.”
Her chin bounced and she grinned at Thomas. “Her blue jeans were my first tip.”
“You must be new to the county. I thought I knew everyone. This wouldn’t be another relative of yours from Lancaster now would it, Joseph?”
I stepped forward. “I’m from Cleveland. I moved here to take a job at Harshberger College.”
She nodded. “That’s probably why I haven’t seen you yet. Can’t say I have much use for the college. I’m Ellie Young. Don’t believe a word any of these children say about me.” She gave them a mock scowl, then directed her attention back to Grandfather Zook. “If you’re not here to eat my good cooking, what brings you out this way?”
“Chloe does,” he replied. “She needs furniture for her new home, and your flea market is the best place in the county.”
A smile spread across Ellie’s wide mouth. “That’s a fact. When they see a naïve Englisch girl like you coming, some of the old timers might try to pull one over you on their prices. Stay close to Joseph. He’ll keep them in check.” She wiped her hand on her apron. “I’d better get back into the kitchen. We have a new baker on hand. You’d think she’s never seen a pie before by her crust crimping.” She gave Grandfather Zook a beady look. “You’d better promise to stop in the restaurant for a piece of pie before you go.”
“Since you badgered me into it, I guess I will.” He returned her look with a grin.
She harrumphed and went back inside the kitchen.
Ruth pulled on his arm. “Can I go find Anna now, please? She’s been waiting forever.”
He tugged at his beard. “Ya, you can go. Take Thomas and Naomi with you.”
Her expression fell.
“They might as well have some fun too.” He tweaked the ear of his youngest grandson. “Do you want to go with Ruthie or help us shop?”
“Ruthie,” he said immediately.
“See?” Grandfather Zook said. “Now, go before I change my mind and make all of you shop with us.”
Ruth grabbed Naomi and Thomas’s hands and ran off.
Becky gave Sparky a parting pat, and then we followed Grandfather Zook toward the flea market. Despite his crutches, he moved confidently.
Three long shelter houses, standing in three straight lines behind the restaurant, comprised the flea market. Crowded with English and Amish alike, they sold everything from fresh strawberries to sneakers. As we strolled down the first aisle, I took in the colors and smells. An Amish man stirred popcorn kernels with a long-handled spatula in a black cast iron pot that hung from a cooking tripod over a fire. The smell of fresh kettle corn and campfire hung heavy in air.
Next to him, an English woman with three-inch-long red fingernails sold Beanie Babies. Had she collected them at the height of the fad? There were hundreds. An Amish girl about Becky’s age held a rainbow bear in her hand. Her father said something in their language; reluctantly, she dropped the bear back onto the table.
Across from the kettle corn, crudely drawn cardboard signs advertised vegetables for sale, such as Ohio-grown heirloom tomatoes. Amish women sold eggplants, zucchinis, carrots, and every other vegetable imaginable.
An Amish boy ran by me with a box of potatoes and bumped into a teenager texting on her cell phone. She glared at him.
Beyond the vegetables, another group of Amish women sold fruit-filled fry pies and cobblers. The baked goods all sat in clear plastic boxes so shoppers could see the contents. Next to the baked goods, an English man in a black leather vest sold hunting knives and fishing poles from the back of his tractor-trailer.
I threw my hands into the air. “I don’t know where to start.”
“Don’t worry.” Timothy watched me, his gaze assuring. “Grossdaddi knows where all the deals are.”
Becky stepped closer to her brother, her voice a harsh whisper. “Grossdaddi,” she said. “Everyone is staring at us.”
I followed her line of sight and realized—she was right.
Chapter Twenty
Let ’em stare.” Grandfather Zook adjusted the braces on his arms.
Becky shook her head tightly. “I knew this was a bad idea.”
Timothy put a hand on his sister’s shoulder. “Let’s not stand around and give them something to gawk at. The furniture is in the next pavilion.”
We wove through the crowd. I tried to ignore the wh
ispers in both English and Pennsylvania Dutch as we passed booths selling sweet corn, fresh bread, purses, tennis shoes, and antique buttons.
The second pavilion was identical to the first—a cement slap with thick white-washed posts holding up an asphalt roof. Where the first pavilion was a hodgepodge of wares, the second pavilion had a theme: furniture. It was easy to tell the Amish from the English furniture. Nearly everything in the Amish section was made of light-colored wood varnished to a high sheen. The scent of vinegar polish hung heavy in the pavilion. The English furniture was secondhand and contained everything from an old beauty shop hair dryer chair to an Art Deco glass end table.
Grandfather Zook stopped and looked around. “Where should we start?”
Timothy and Becky watched me for direction.
I rubbed my lips together, glancing about. “We could use a couch.”
Within twenty minutes we had reclined on half a dozen different sofas. As I stood up from a particularly ugly orange leather couch, I noticed the color of Grandfather Zook’s face had paled to white-gray.
“Maybe we should head home,” I said. “Now that I know the flea market is here, I can come back another time and shop for furniture.”
Grandfather Zook shook his head. “Don’t worry about me.” He coughed. “I could use a cup of water.”
“I’ll find you one,” Becky volunteered and ran back toward the restaurant.
Grandfather Zook stood on his crutches. Timothy stood close by, ready to catch his grandfather if necessary. Grandfather Zook coughed again and cleared his throat. “I told you I’m fine.” He started down the line of furniture again and pulled up short, pointing to a blue plush sofa jammed between a television cabinet and a bookshelf. “What about that one?”
I squeezed behind the television cabinet and sat on the couch. “I like it.” I flipped over the price tag pinned to the arm. “Eighty bucks! I like it even more now.”
Grandfather Zook snorted. “That’s too much.”
A large man with a gray beard and mustache approached us. “May I help you?” The mustache gave him away as English. Well, that and his Beatles T-shirt.
“I’d like to buy this couch,” I said.
Grandfather Zook tapped his right crutch on the cement. “Eighty dollars is high. What else will you throw in with it?”
The man ran a finger along his mustache and sized up Grandfather Zook. Then he turned toward me. “Is there anything else you’d like?”
“I could use some tables for the living room.” I spied a dark wood set that included two end tables and a coffee table. “I like these.”
“We’ll take all four pieces for eighty dollars.” Grandfather Zook’s eyes sparkled, his complexion no longer gray.
The salesman’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll give you all four pieces for one thirty.”
Grandfather Zook tugged on his beard. “Ninety.”
“No way,” the man said.
Grandfather Zook waved me over. “Come on, Chloe, we will go somewhere else.”
Reluctantly, I stood.
“Fine,” the man grumbled. “One hundred dollars.”
Grandfather Zook grinned. “Sold!”
The man reached into his pocket for his receipt tablet, his mouth twisted as if annoyed.
I couldn’t wait to tell Tanisha about my finds. She was the real bargain hunter between us. If she and Grandfather Zook ever joined forces, they would be dangerous.
Becky approached us carrying a paper cup of water, and Grandfather Zook took notice of her. “I’ll let you finish up here, and go wait with Becky.” He pointed at a blue velvet sofa two booths away. “I’ll be waiting over there.”
Timothy and I agreed.
Timothy smiled after his grandfather, then moved his gaze to me. “I’ve never seen anyone so excited about furniture before.”
I blushed. “Are you sure everything will fit in your truck?”
“No problem. I’ve hauled twice that before.”
Ten minutes later, Timothy and I found Grandfather Zook on the velvet sofa. Becky was no where to be seen. However, Grandfather Zook was not alone. Deacon Sutter stood in front of him with his arms crossed in front of his chest. The deacon stood up straight, as if a yard stick ran the length of his spine. His black plain jacket was spotless and without wrinkles, and his hat sat atop the center of his head.
The deacon glared at us. “Joseph, you have all your grandchildren with you today. I’m surprised by this.”
“Ya, even my grandkinner.” Grandfather Zook winked at me. “Here are two of them now.”
I smiled back. Grandfather Zook considered me one of his grandchildren.
The deacon nodded at Timothy, then turned his dark stare to me. “You were at the accident. Who are you?”
I bit my tongue to hold back a smart remark. “I’m Chloe Humphrey.”
“Humphrey is not an Amish name.”
“I’m not Amish.” As if I could be mistaken for Amish considering I wore jeans, a T-shirt, and sandals.
Deacon Sutter scowled at Grandfather Zook. “I thought you said she was one of your grandkinner. From Pennsylvania? Maybe a Beachy? They are loose like you are.”
My brow wrinkled. What’s a Beachy?
“My grandfather was making a joke,” Timothy said.
The deacon’s jaw twitched, and his eyes narrowed further as he scrutinized me. “You’re the owner of the car.”
“I am.”
He turned his back to me. “Joseph, Preacher Hooley and I visited your son-in-law and daughter this morning.”
Grandfather Zook struggled to his feet. Timothy helped his grandfather up. “Why?”
“For the sake of the rest of the family, it would be best if you distanced yourself from Rebecca and the Englischer. It is not good for the younger children to be around them.”
Grandfather Zook didn’t answer right away. Instead he took his time slipping his crutches onto his thin arms with Timothy by his side. “What did my daughter and son-in-law say?”
“They will follow the advice of the church.” He smirked. “They always do.”
“You may be able to intimidate my son-in-law, but you can’t do that to me.” He stamped a crutch on the cement ground.
“You shouldn’t be talking to my grandfather alone, Deacon,” Timothy said. “You don’t have a witness to this conversation.” With Grandfather Zook’s weight supported on the crutches, Timothy let go of his grandfather’s arm.
“You’re not Amish anymore, Timothy. I don’t see why you have a right to comment on our ways. You made your choice. In your case it was the right decision for the district.”
Timothy recoiled as if the deacon had just slapped him across the mouth. “At least I can choose what rules to follow.”
Deacon Sutter bared his teeth. “You may have decided to leave our district, but the rest of your family has not. You should think of how your behavior and your sister Rebecca’s will affect them.”
I stepped around the deacon and stood on the other side of Grandfather Zook. Deacon Sutter’s stormy expression sent a shiver down my spine. He glared back at me before stomping away.
“Grossdaddi,” Timothy began. “You shouldn’t speak to the deacon that way.”
Grandfather Zook snorted. “And what were you doing?”
Timothy frowned. “The deacon is right. It is different for me.” He didn’t sound happy about that.
“Deacon Sutter has no use for our family. Timothy, you know that better than anyone.”
I watched Timothy’s face, his mouth twisted in sadness.
“Why does the deacon feel that way?” I asked.
He didn’t answer.
I was beginning to realize the Amish world was much more complicated and less tranquil than I ever thought.
If the deacon disliked the Troyers, would he cut the brake line of my car to hurt Becky, their daughter? Maybe Curt and Brock aren’t my only enemies in Knox County.
Grandfather Zook shook his head. “Let’s not talk about that man.”
“Where’s Becky?” I asked.
“When the deacon showed up, I told her to go find her brother and sisters. They are going to meet us at the restaurant for a piece of pie. We’d better get going. You don’t want Ellie to come after me, do you?”
Timothy and I followed Grandfather Zook through the maze of furniture. Before we reached the first pavilion, Becky walked up to us. Ruth hugged her around the waist, her thin shoulders bobbing up and down. Thomas held Naomi close. All four children looked stricken.
Grandfather Zook increased his pace. “What happened? Is someone hurt?”
Ruth mumbled something into her sister’s dress.
Becky tucked a stray blonde hair under her sister’s bonnet. “Anna’s father won’t let her see Ruth.” Tears pooled in her blue eyes. “It’s because of me.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Grandfather Zook ushered the family into Young’s Family Kitchen, insisting a piece of pie would make everyone feel better. I had my doubts. Ruth couldn’t stop crying. I imagined how I would feel if Tanisha’s parents forbade her to see me.
We entered the restaurant at the height of the lunch rush. Senior citizens in wheelchairs and walkers complained as they waited for tables, and families with young children perused the gift shop and bakery to distract their toddlers until it was time to sit down and eat.
Ellie spotted us as soon as we stepped through the door. She sidestepped her hostess, a young Amish woman, and grabbed a handful of menus. “I was afraid you left without pie.” She tsked. “I have your table right over here.” She made a beeline for an open table by a large picture window overlooking a cornfield east of Young’s property. A red barn sat just beyond the field, making the scene look like an oil painting.
As soon as we sat down, Ellie removed a notepad and pen from her white apron pocket. “What would you all like?”
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