“Ruth, he’s at least ten years older than you.”
“Daed’s eight years older than Maam. That’s not much different.” She looked wistful. “Do you think he will come back to the Amish?”
I doubted it, but I didn’t tell her that. “Let’s go inside.”
The long dining table inside the kitchen was set. Becky and her mother bustled around the room with ease, Mrs. Troyer in her simple dress, apron, and prayer cap, Becky in her pink cable knit sweater, jeans, and makeup. I suspected that last Thanksgiving Mrs. Troyer had not thought that her daughter would be assisting a year later wearing American Eagle jeans.
Mrs. Troyer handed Ruth an oven mitt. “I’m glad you were able to make it inside, daughter.”
Ruth bowed her head. “I’m sorry, Maam.”
Her mother nodded.
As the women worked in the kitchen, the men sat in the next room chatting in Pennsylvania Dutch. I smiled at the low-pitch rumble of their words punctuated by higher-pitched exclamations from Thomas and Naomi, who was too small to help her mother in the kitchen. I was not a man or a small child. I didn’t fit in the living room.
Mrs. Troyer smiled and took pity on me. “Chloe, can you fill the water glasses on the table?”
I smiled. It was the first time Mrs. Troyer had asked me to help.
Finally, the meal was ready. Mrs. Troyer ventured into the living room to tell the men and Naomi that it was time for dinner. The family slid onto the bench seats with Grandfather Zook at one end, and Mr. Troyer at the other. As one we bowed our heads for the blessing. I waited to hear the Pennsylvania Dutch words.
Every Thanksgiving dish I could imagine, and some I didn’t expect—like Becky’s manicotti—covered the long oak table. The turkey, its tanned skin glistening and shining in the gaslight hanging overhead, had been placed near Mr. Troyer’s plate. Mashed potatoes oozed butter next to a white, porcelain gravy boat. Amish noodles, green beans, corn, and relish all had their own serving dishes too. I didn’t even look at the dozens of desserts on the hutch, waiting to be served.
“Dear Lord,” Mr. Troyer began, his head bowed and eyes tightly closed. “Thank You for Your abundant blessing on this Thanksgiving Day.”
My head snapped up. It was the first time he’d given the blessing in English, and it was for me. I was the only one in the room who couldn’t understand Pennsylvania Dutch. Tears formed in the corners of my eyes. As I started to bow my head, I caught Timothy watching me. His smile showed me that he knew how I felt about the prayer. Mr. Troyer finished and the moment he said, “Amen,” empty plates and full-serving dishes were being passed around the table.
Grandfather Zook took a sip of his water. “Chloe, did you see my beard? It grew at least an inch overnight. I have such a fine chin to grow a beard. That must be why the perp sought me out.”
“Daed,” Mrs. Troyer chided. “That sounds prideful.”
Her father selected some dill pickles from a dish. “It’s not prideful, just a statement of fact.”
“It does look a little longer.” I added relish onto my very full plate.
The old man grinned. “See? You don’t notice, Martha, because you see me all day long, but those who are away notice more.” He speared a pickle with a fork. “I’m looking forward to showing the boys at the general store come this spring.”
“If they’ll talk to you,” Ruth muttered into her piece of manicotti.
A pained expression crossed her parents’ faces.
Danny cocked his head. “Why wouldn’t they? I imagine Grandfather Zook is the center of attention when he goes to the store.”
Grandfather Zook pointed the pickle at Danny. “You’re right about that.”
Mr. Troyer spooned stuffing onto his plate. “Much in the district has changed in the last few months.”
Thomas spoke up. “The bishop canceled the Thanksgiving play at the schoolhouse, even though we worked so hard on it.” He created a small mountain of corn on his plate. “He said theatrics were sinful.”
Grandfather Zook shook his head. “The Amish Bread Bakery said they didn’t need our milk or cheese anymore. They would get it from someplace else.”
Mr. Troyer scowled at his father-in-law and said something in their language.
“Daed?” Timothy paled. “Is that true?”
“It is,” his father answered.
“It won’t be long before other Amish businesses fall in line. Everyone wants to stay out of the deacon’s way.” Grandfather Zook cut into his ham slice. “Becky, this is gut!”
She beamed.
“Don’t you mean the bishop?” Danny asked.
“The deacon’s the one who is really running the show. I’m sure he’s happy to see our dairy struggle.”
A knot formed in my stomach. The dairy farm is struggling?
Danny’s dimple receded into his cheek. “Sounds an awful lot like my old district.”
Becky sliced into the turkey breast on her plate. “What did you do about it?”
Danny cleared his throat. “I left.”
Mr. Troyer set his mug of coffee on the table. “Most of our milk goes to the Englischer milkman. There is no need to worry. No more talk about the bishop or Grossdaddi’s beard. This is Thanksgiving. We should be counting our many blessings from the Lord, not our challenges.”
I cleared my throat. “I’m going to be in the holiday parade tomorrow.”
Thomas bounced in his seat. “What? Really?”
I told them about the snowman costume. Even Mr. Troyer cracked a smile.
Thomas looked at his father. “Can we go? I want to see Chloe, the snowman.”
Mr. Troyer considered this. “We’ll see. It depends how you behave today. If you are gut, maybe Grossdaddi will take you.”
Grandfather Zook chuckled. “That means eating all of your carrots.”
Thomas’s eyes widened. He looked at the carrots his mother had piled on his plate. With determination, he forked one and shoved it into his mouth.
The conversation shifted as Danny, who worked as a stable hand at a horse farm, told about the summer he worked as a rodeo clown. Everyone laughed at his story except Ruth.
Suddenly, the very real threat of tears caused me to duck my head. This was the Thanksgiving dinner I had always hoped for, and in a place I never expected. I composed myself and looked up. Ruth had barely touched her plate.
As much as I wanted to be with this family, though, I wouldn’t be the cause of Mr. Troyer’s farm failing—or the reason Ruth wouldn’t eat.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Unable to sleep because of worries about the Troyer family, I got up in the middle of the night. I pulled my iPad from my nightstand and logged onto my e-mail account. The box was full of notices about great Black Friday sales in stores I used to frequent when I lived in Cleveland. Not one of those stores existed in Knox County. I deleted them all. Following the ads were four forwarded message from Tanisha—all from Cole.
I opened the first one. I’m sorry. Cole.
My stomach constricted. The message was dated in October.
Next message, a few days later. Baby, I’m sorry. Can you forgive me? C
The next e-mail showed up two weeks after that. I never expected you to be this cold. Please contact me. I love you. C
I bit my lip. The final message was dated the Monday before Thanksgiving. Tanisha, if you can’t forgive me, I want my ring back. Cole.
Uh-oh.
There was another e-mail from Tanisha. Okay, give me the Cliff’s Notes version. I can take it. Tee.
I wasn’t so sure about that. I sent a reply. Umm . . . he’s sorry, says he loves you, and asked about the ring.
Instantly, her e-mail reply appeared. First, what are you still doing up? It must be two in the morning there. He
asked about the ring? Not good.
I typed my reply. Not good at all.
We e-mailed back and forth until I was too tired to hold my iPad up.
The next morning you wouldn’t know it was Black Friday in Appleseed Creek. The only open shops in town were Amish owned, and the grocery store didn’t have the same draw that the large department stores in Columbus or even the English discount stores in Mount Vernon did.
I didn’t miss the frenzied shopping. Typically, on this day I would be in the San Diego airport waiting for my flight back to Cleveland. As expected, I ate way too much at the Troyers’ farm yesterday and felt queasy when my alarm went off at seven that morning. I groaned.
By the time I arrived at Harshberger’s gymnasium I was more awake, but no less queasy. I hadn’t even bothered entering the kitchen that morning because our refrigerator and counters were packed with leftovers from the day before.
I walked around the building and pulled up short. The float. Two days before it looked like a flatbed truck that had gone three rounds with an enormous cotton ball. Today, it looked like a winter wonderland. A large igloo with a pretend campfire in front of it sat on one side. Red and orange tissue paper agitated by a small fan underneath moved the flames back and forth. On the opposing end, a blue kidney-shaped platform represented a frozen pond. The largest stuffed animal polar bear I’d ever seen stood at the edge of the pond. It was taller than I was. In the middle of the float stood a red and white North Pole.
“Like it?” Billy asked. “I bought the bear on eBay. Thirty bucks.”
“It’s impressive.” I peered into the igloo. “Can someone fit in there?”
“Sure. I fit, and three people your size would be comfortable.” He pointed to the middle of the float. “That’s where you’re going to stand, right next to the North Pole. You will be the float’s main attraction.”
Great.
Collette stepped out of the gymnasium, her face pinched. “Chloe, please come inside and put on your costume. We have to join the parade line in twenty minutes.”
Was it a bad sign that I may need the entire twenty minutes to don my snowman suit?
I wanted to ask Collette what she was doing at Young’s on Wednesday afternoon, but she bustled around the gym with an irritated expression on her face. This wasn’t the time.
Mary was waiting for me in her makeshift sewing studio in one corner of the gym. Next to her was the snowman suit.
She smiled shyly at me. “What do you think?”
What could I say? The snowman was cute. The first piece was the body and would fall to the middle of my calf. It had large black buttons running down the tummy and a red bow tie. The head had a felt carrot nose, eye holes, and a red fabric smile. Regardless of the costume’s cuteness, I didn’t want to wear it.
Collette strode by at a fast pace. “Stop staring at it and put it on.”
Mary took a step back from her. While Collette moved on to the next victim, I rolled my eyes at Mary, and she smiled. She handed me a pair of white leggings and the body of the snowman suit. I stepped behind a Chinese screen in the corner of her work area. As I waddled out from behind the screen, I knew what a penguin felt like.
Mary adjusted the suit on my shoulders so that it hung straighter.
“How did the wedding go yesterday?” I ventured.
“Gut. I don’t think I have ever seen Esther so happy.” She took a lint brush to the back of the costume.
“I’m glad for her,” I said, meaning it.
She put the lint brush away in her sewing box. “I’m sorry that none of the Troyers were there. I heard you were at their home yesterday.”
I hadn’t mentioned the Troyers when Mary and I met, but apparently she already knew my connection to the family. Becky had been right. Our presence at the Troyer home during Thanksgiving was known across the district. “I was. We had a nice Thanksgiving meal.”
She picked up the snowman head from the floor. “The bishop wasn’t pleased when he heard the news.”
“What did he do?”
She wagged her chin and handed me the head. “Everyone else is outside.”
I pressed her. “Did he say anything?”
She began to pack up her sewing kit. “I can’t say.”
I’d been dismissed. Reluctantly, I waddled out of the gym. Collette stood with Billy and Dylan next to the float. Billy had hitched it to a pickup truck and would be driving us through the parade. I blinked when I saw Dylan’s costume. I’d seen Dylan’s male figure skater getup on Wednesday, but apparently it hadn’t yet received its full, bedazzled treatment by then. I hadn’t seen so many sequins outside of Disney World. I muffled a giggle. A professor from the art department was his skating partner.
Looked like Dean Klink was unable to find any more recruits for the float.
The art professor ignored me. She was already on the “ice,” practicing her moves. Dylan however made a beeline for me. “You look great, Chloe.” His voice was muffled.
He had to be joking, right? I was a snowman. The costume’s large head impaired my view, so I couldn’t see his expression.
“All aboard,” Billy cried.
Dylan hopped onto the float and took his place next to the art professor. I stared at the step up. It was two feet off the ground. Normally this would be a minor challenge at my height. In a snowman suit, it was impossible.
Billy chuckled. “Let me give you a boost.” Despite the enormous suit, Billy picked me up and placed me on the float as if I weighed no more than a matchbook.
He climbed into the truck’s cabin.
Collette pointed at each of us in turn. “Please don’t embarrass the college. Chloe, we need to talk after the parade.”
Talk? About what?
The truck fired up and Billy jerked the trailer along after him. I grabbed the North Pole to keep from toppling over. Billy waited for the high school marching band, the mayor in a convertible, and a flock of cheerleaders to pass before he turned the float into the line.
I kept my hand firmly placed on the North Pole as we made the turn. A block away from the college, the citizens of Appleseed Creek lined the tree lawns and sidewalks six deep. I hadn’t ever realized there were that many people living in town. Most were English, but I saw several Amish faces in the crowd too. A little boy cried “Frosty!” when the float rocked by, and I found myself smiling. This wasn’t so bad.
We crawled another block and turned onto the square. Chief Rose stood at the edge of the square with her hands on her hip, her sober, don’t-mess-with-me face, firmly in place.
Sadie stood outside of the bakery. The smallest of smiles played on her face. I hoped the parade lifted her spirits. I waved at her. She waved back even though she couldn’t possibly know who was behind the giant Frosty head.
I suspected she was alone at the bakery today. Esther would be at the Glick farm, cleaning up after the wedding. I decided to stop by the bakery after the parade. Collette and her talk would have to wait.
Curt and Brock stood a little farther down the sidewalk. The pair made wolf whistles at the art professor in her sequined outfit. I was never happier to be in the snowman suit. I didn’t wave to them. Not that they noticed.
Through the open back window of the pickup, Billy called, “We go around the square twice. Be sure to hold on tight during the curves.”
When we passed the place were Curt and Brock had been standing, another familiar pair stood in front of the cheese shop—Deacon Sutter and Collette. The odd duo stood inches apart. Collette waved her arms as she spoke, and the deacon, arms folded, glared back at her. My hand slid from the North Pole, and I righted myself so as not to fall off of the float. Appleseed Creek was tiny, but how did she get there so quickly from the college? What could they possibly have to say to each other? As the trailer pulled around the
next curve, I pivoted so I could look at them. The stomachache I’d had earlier in the morning came back with a vengeance.
Billy turned down the next road off the square, keeping pace with the cheerleaders frolicking in front of him. As we turned the corner, Timothy, Becky, Grandfather Zook, Thomas, and Naomi waved widely at me. They knew who was hiding in that snowman suit. I waved back and grinned from ear to ear. I had family waiting for me. An unfamiliar sense of peace washed over me.
“Yea! Chloe, the snow lady!” Thomas cried in top voice over the marching band and the cheerleaders. As we passed, I turned so I could wave to them until we were out of sight. As I did, I faced the art professor and Dylan, who stood as if frozen on the ice. He no longer twirled about the blue platform with his partner, but instead, stared at me and the way I gleefully waved at the Troyers. His partner continued to twirl and leap as if she were giving a private performance for the Olympic trials.
I dropped my hand.
Back at the college, Billy lifted me off of the float. I removed the snowman head.
The art professor leaped off the float. “That was wonderful.” Then she danced away.
Dylan walked over to me. “Chloe, I hope you didn’t forget I planned to work on the house today.”
I chewed the corner of my lip. I had forgotten.
Irritation crossed Dylan’s face. “You forgot.”
“It’s fine if you come over. I have to run an errand now, but Becky should be there if I’m not home by the time you get there. She doesn’t have to work until late this afternoon.
He nodded and turned away.
I waddled back into the gym. Mary and her makeshift studio were gone. She had left a note asking me to leave the costume in the corner of the gym and someone would collect it. I stepped behind the Chinese screen and changed back into my jeans and sweater.
I placed the snowman suit in the place directed. I was the only person in the gym. Apparently, Dylan and the art professor had somewhere else to change. Unless the outfits were part of their private collections. I could believe it about the art professor.
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