Breath of Spring

by Hubbard, Charlotte

  As she put away the dishes, Adam set around a few mousetraps he’d found in the mudroom. “Will you be okay here while I get my wagon?” he asked. “Between the two of us, we can load your sewing machine and then set it in Ben’s smithy until you figure out where ya want it, jah?”

  “Denki for makin’ this a whole lot easier,” she murmured gratefully. “You are a gut man, Adam. And that’s the long and the short of it.”

  Chapter Seven

  It was pitch-black, only four o’clock, when Annie Mae slipped into the back door of the Sweet Seasons kitchen the next morning. For a moment she lingered in the comfort of the dim lights, soaking up the homey warmth and the heavenly aroma of Miriam’s daily baking—the perfect antidote to the troubling dreams she’d had during her fitful night’s sleep. Just breathing deeply . . . just the sight of Miriam rolling out dough for piecrusts set Annie Mae to rights again.

  Miriam turned and smiled. “You’re up way before the chickens, Annie Mae,” she said cheerfully. “I’m guessin’ you’ve figured out that early morning’s the best time to think your best thoughts while ya work, ain’t so?”

  Annie Mae hung her coat on a peg beside the door and then washed her hands. “That’s when I could get a few things done at home, too—before the kids were up,” she replied. “And it’s better than wakin’ Nellie and Rhoda with my tossin’ and turnin’.”

  “Ah. There’s that—although I think my Ben could sleep through a tornado.” Miriam turned back to her dough, rolling out circles of the pastry with quick precision . . . waiting for Annie Mae to explain why she hadn’t slept well. It was a strategy Annie Mae recognized, and she felt compelled to confide in Miriam, knowing her thoughts and secrets would go no farther than these sunny yellow walls.

  “What can I help ya with?” Annie Mae asked as she glanced at the pans along the back counter. “My word, you’ve already baked all these Danish and breads and cupcakes?”

  “It’s my therapy.” Miriam met her gaze then, with deep brown eyes that glimmered with patience and wisdom. “The squabblin’ between Ben and his brothers yesterday got me wound up. I suspect we’ve not heard the last of it.”

  Had Miriam read her mind? Spotting the big bowl of apples in the sink, Annie Mae picked up a paring knife. “Well, ya won’t be seein’ me with Luke anymore, because I told him to hit the road. When we left your place, I asked him to run me by the house to see if the sewing machine was still there—”

  Miriam’s eyes widened. “And how did that go? How did the house look?”

  “—and you’d’ve thought I asked him to move every stick of furniture there,” Annie Mae fumed. “Honestly, I wonder what I ever saw in him. Pigheaded doesn’t begin to describe that man!”

  As Miriam arranged crusts in pie pans, she chuckled. “Now don’t take this wrong, honey-bug,” she murmured, “but I always figured that you and Luke dated mostly to get your dat’s goat. And now that your dat’s not around, maybe the goat’s not so much fun to chase after, either.”

  Annie Mae’s knife stopped halfway around a large, red apple. This woman certainly had a way of nailing a situation. “I . . . hadn’t thought about it that way.”

  “Of course not. We seldom see ourselves the way other folks do—and we girls refuse to believe that a fella we’re sweet on is all wrong for us, even when folks we trust tell us so.”

  Annie Mae let this observation soak in as she sliced the apple into the bowl and began to peel another one. How many times had her dat and plenty of other people told her that Luke was too old for her? Yet she’d grabbed at every chance to sneak out with him. . . .

  “I’m glad ya broke it off with him,” Miriam murmured. “While he’s Ben’s brother and a smart fella when it comes to his business, I can’t admire a man who talked the way he did about our preachers yesterday. He’s either in or he’s out, far as the church goes—and Luke’s pretty much announced where he stands by bein’ unbaptized at thirty.”

  Annie Mae nodded, but breaking up with Luke still felt like a freshly scraped knee. It was a good time to discuss something less personal. “Um, the sewing machine is sittin’ in the corner of Ben’s smithy, because I didn’t know where else to put it. What with Nellie’s dresses lookin’ so short and snug—”

  “Gut for you, takin’ care of your sister.” Miriam gazed at her then, obviously curious about the sewing machine story. “Not a lot of room in that loft apartment, what with you two girls and Rhoda bunkin’ up there. I could have Ben set it up in our spare room downstairs. You could come over and use it anytime, honey-bug.”

  “But I never meant to take up space at your—”

  “Ah, but if we put your machine at my place, I could sew on it, too,” Miriam pointed out. “I left mine at the house where Rachel and Micah are livin’, ya see. Seems like a practical answer for both of us, ain’t so?”

  How did this woman arrive at the best solutions so easily? Annie Mae released the tension in her shoulders. “That’s more than fair—and mighty generous of ya,” she murmured. “It was Mamm’s machine. . . .”

  Before she knew it, Annie Mae was pouring out the story of going to the house, and how Luke had gotten so testy, and how Adam had helped her clear away the mess on the table before he’d driven her back to the apartment. Miriam listened attentively as she trimmed the bottom crusts for ten pies. It felt so good to talk with an older woman—one who understood the complications of dating and raising a family and . . . a mother, much like the one Annie Mae had lost when she was only eleven. And because Miriam had been at the house for that fateful Second Christmas dinner, she knew why everyone had left before the meal was over.

  As they stirred brown sugar, grated lemon rind, cinnamon, and lemon juice into the bowl of apple slices, Annie Mae got a sudden inspiration. “Do ya think I could give one of these pies to Adam? I’d pay ya for—”

  “Oh no, you won’t!” A little grin overtook Miriam’s face. “If any fella has earned a pie, it’s Adam. And nobody would appreciate it more, what with him and Matthias scrapin’ by as bachelors. Let’s make his with a lattice top, so it looks extra-special.”

  By the time they got the pies into the oven, Rhoda and Rebecca came in to set up the dining room. Soon Naomi and Hannah arrived, as well, and the Sweet Seasons was filled with the aromas of sizzling bacon, simmering chicken, and the hamburger and onions they were frying for the soup and the beef-and-bean stew on the lunch menu. The café’s morning routine had become second nature to Annie Mae, and when Bishop Tom arrived just ahead of the Brenneman and Kanagy brothers, she took their orders and poured their coffee as though she’d been doing it all her life.

  The Waglers came in, as well, and while Matthias went straight to the buffet behind Seth and Aaron, Adam remained at his table. Annie Mae knew the menu well enough now that she seldom wore Adam’s glasses, but she kept them in her apron . . . ran her hand over the ridge they made in her pocket as she greeted him. “Havin’ the short stack, ham, and eggs over easy?” she teased. “I’ll get your tea right out.”

  When Adam smiled at her, she noticed that he’d washed his dark brown hair and combed it a little differently, back over his ears—not that he’d done it for her, of course. “Got any baked oatmeal this morning? Maybe with some fruit?”

  “Jah. We’ve got warm peaches, or bananas, or—”

  “Perfect, both of those. And so you won’t think I’m eating too healthy, I’ll want syrup to drizzle all over that, please.”

  Well, this was a switch. As Annie Mae strode to the kitchen to place his order, she reminded herself that folks tried something different every now and again. And the baked oatmeal really was tasty—a lot like a moist, fruity coffeecake. Did Adam seem extremely cheerful this morning, or was she reading more into his mood than she should? She filled a teapot with boiling water, dropped in two tea bags, and then headed back to his table to tell him how she and Miriam had worked out her sewing machine dilemma.

  When the bell above the door jingled, the man entering th
e café riveted Annie Mae with a gaze that stopped her in her tracks. As he removed his black coat and broad-brimmed hat, he looked familiar, and yet—

  Oh my stars, it’s Dat . . . but he’s trimmed his beard close to his face and—and he’s cut his hair English-style and colored it black!

  The whole place suddenly got quiet.

  Rhoda and Rebecca, who’d been waiting on a few tables of English guests, exchanged a glance and then looked at Annie Mae. Rebecca put on a smile and breezed over to greet their unexpected guest. “Good morning, Hiram. Sit wherever—”

  “Is it?” he challenged, his gaze never wavering from Annie Mae. “I prefer to give my order to your new waitress.”

  Unruffled, Rebecca gestured around the dining room. “Sit anywhere you like then. I’ll be right there with your coffee.”

  Annie Mae’s knees turned to jelly and her mind went blank. She tried to tell herself this was no different from when she’d put her father’s breakfast on the table at home—but she didn’t believe that and neither would her dat. And he would have to sit at the same table as the Waglers. She set Adam’s teapot on the front counter so she wouldn’t drop it on somebody and scald them.

  “Gut morning, Hiram,” Adam said as he scooted his chair over to make more room. “You’ve saved me a phone call by coming—”

  “You’ll get your turn after I order my breakfast—if the waitress will ever come to the table,” her father replied tersely.

  Somehow Annie Mae got her feet to move. She gripped her order pad as though she were hanging on to her last thread of rational thought. Dat sounded testy, and she could think of several reasons why. “Gut morning, Dat. What can I get ya?” she asked in the strongest voice she could muster.

  He looked her over as though he was trying to find fault with her dress or her kapp. “A ham and cheese omelet with hash browns—and then an explanation for why you’ve been to the house when I told you not to return until you’d begged my forgiveness.”

  He did have one of his security cameras set up in the kitchen and—

  Annie Mae swallowed hard, willing her body not to shake. “I’ll be right back with that,” she rasped. She fled toward the kitchen, wishing she could keep right on going through the back door, never to return. But that wasn’t the answer. She would have to face her dat—have to take her licks rather than leaving Miriam to deal with him.

  “What’s the matter, child? Ya look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Naomi said when Annie Mae got to the cookstove.

  “Dat’s here,” she rasped.

  As one, Miriam, Naomi, and Hannah stared out into the dining room. “Are my eyes goin’ bad, or are we talkin’ about the fella sittin’ beside Adam?” Naomi whispered.

  “What’s Hiram up to, cuttin’ his beard and hair and dyin’ them black?” Miriam muttered. “He was the first to say how evil it was when my Rebecca first showed up here with her colored hair.”

  Annie Mae exhaled loudly. “He—he wants a ham and cheese omelet with hash browns. Not to mention my explanation for goin’ over to the house last night.”

  Miriam removed her oven mitts and smoothed her apron. “Looks like a gut time for me to chat with our breakfast guests,” she said matter-of-factly. “I don’t know what’s keepin’ Ben, but we’ll handle it. What with Tom and the younger fellas—and God—bein’ here with us, we’ll help ya settle this right off, honey-bug.”

  Annie Mae sighed. Though it was a wonderful thing to have Miriam and everyone else in the Sweet Seasons pulling for her, her dat would make a point of humiliating her even more, saying she couldn’t face him by herself. And then he would light into the rest of them for supporting her.

  But she couldn’t worry about that right now. She picked up the teapot with the two tags dangling from it and focused on Adam as she followed Miriam from the kitchen.

  Please, God, Ya gotta help me, she prayed. Ya gotta help us all.

  Her father was gazing sternly at Adam. “I called you yesterday with an offer of work and you didn’t respond,” he said archly. “That’s very rude. Very unprofessional.”

  “Matthias and I were visiting our sister’s family in Clark all day,” Adam replied with a shrug. “Didn’t get your message until last night, and since it was Sunday I figured to call you first thing after breakfast today. I’m sorry, but I can’t help you, Hiram. I’ve got jobs lined up—”

  “Jah, Adam’s workin’ with us on the new clinic for the next few weeks,” Seth Brenneman chimed in as he set his loaded plate on the table beside Adam’s.

  “And after that he’s makin’ repairs and paintin’ the whole inside of my place,” Bishop Tom spoke up from his table in the corner. “I’m gettin’ the house freshened up before Nazareth and I get hitched next month, ya see.”

  As Annie Mae set Adam’s teapot next to him, she managed to return his smile even as her father glared at the men who’d spoken to him.

  “I can’t think you’ll pass up what I’ll pay you, when your work in Willow Ridge could wait a few weeks,” Hiram insisted as he looked purposefully into Adam’s eyes. “As I told you, we have new residents coming from Indiana and Ohio, expecting the finished homes I promised them.”

  Adam took his time pouring a cup of his tea. “And I’ve told you,” he said quietly, “that I’m already committed to—”

  “Thicker than thieves, the lot of you,” her father snapped. Then he looked up at Annie Mae. “And you’ve lowered yourself to waiting tables now? That, and breaking into the house to steal things?”

  “She’s doin’ honest work, supportin’ herself and her sister, Hiram,” Miriam said as she topped off his coffee. “She wants to sew Nellie some dresses on her mamm’s machine—”

  “And we cleaned up that spoiled food you left on the table, before rats and coons overran the place,” Adam said in a voice that resonated with disdain. “You’ve got about two days’ worth of propane left before your heat goes off. Why you’re ranting at Annie Mae instead of looking after your property is beyond me, Hiram.”

  “Quite frankly, it’s none of your business,” her father retorted as he smacked the table with his hand. “Did you think I wouldn’t see those footprints in the dust—the wagon tracks in the driveway? If I find other things missing, I’ll know who to report to the police.”

  Miriam set her coffee carafe on the table with a loud thunk. “That’s the most outlandish—well, I can see ya haven’t picked up any pointers in the parenting department, Hiram. If ya think I’m gonna let ya rail at Annie Mae in front of my other customers—”

  Her father rose to his feet so fast, his chair fell backward. “You, woman, have no place telling me what to—”

  The bell above the door jangled just as Bishop Tom and Matthias were coming toward the table, ready to defend Miriam in this escalating confrontation. Annie Mae wanted to find a hole to hide in. Why did Dat always have to cause a scene and suck everyone else into it? To make matters worse, a uniformed police officer was walking in, looking around the dining room as though someone here was in big trouble. Had her dat arranged for this fellow to show up and scare them all? Or to arrest her and Adam for being inside the house?

  “Excuse me, folks,” the officer said loudly, “but I’m looking for the owner of that black Cadillac parked by the door.”

  Once again the dining room got quiet. Her father stopped pointing his finger at Miriam and turned toward the policeman. “Officer McClatchey,” he said in a congenial voice. “I hope you’ve not come to report that someone has hit my car or—”

  “No, sir, Mr. Knepp. I couldn’t help but notice that you’re parked in the space designated for handicapped drivers,” the policeman replied in a businesslike voice. “And I didn’t see the appropriate blue and white placard in your car.”

  Her dat straightened to his full height. “All the parking slots are filled—mostly with buggies,” he added under his breath, “so I had no choice but to—”

  “No, sir, I parked on the other side of the quilting shop, where the
re are several spots,” Officer McClatchey stated. “According to the law—and clearly stated on the sign—there’s a fine ranging from fifty to two hundred dollars for parking in that space if you’re not handicapped. I’ll have to write you a ticket.”

  Somehow Annie Mae kept from gaping. She wasn’t surprised her father was driving the car that had gotten him excommunicated from the Willow Ridge district, but why had he ignored the blue and white sign by the door? Miriam, Tom, and the other fellows were sharing looks that suggested they, too, were curious about the situation—and pleased to see this officer enforcing the law.

  When Adam winked at her, Annie Mae sensed her luck might take a turn for the better. Yet Adam couldn’t possibly have called the policeman....

  “A ticket won’t be necessary,” her father insisted. “I’ll simply move my car—”

  “Sorry,” Officer McClatchey said as he pulled a notepad from his back pocket. “I must assess the fine whenever I see a violation of—”

  “Let’s you and I step outside and settle this,” her father said as he took the policeman’s arm. “I’m sure we can come to terms about—”

  The policeman stepped back, removing his arm from her dat’s grasp. “If you refuse to comply, Mr. Knepp, I’ll have to arrest you—and from the way you were harassing Miriam when I came in, I can add ‘disturbing the peace’ to the charges. Need I go on?” he asked impatiently. “You’ll pay the fine, as anyone would be expected to. You’re not above the law, sir.”

  Her dat’s intake of breath nearly sucked all the air from the dining room. Annie Mae could see it on everyone’s faces: Hiram Knepp indeed believed that he could sidestep the rules, or pay his way out of them, and folks were glad to see this man in the blue uniform holding him accountable.

  Oh, but her father despised losing, or being made a fool of. His mouth was a tight line as he reached into the back pocket of his pants—