Breath of Spring

by Hubbard, Charlotte

  Bishop Tom laughed and waved her off. “Naz’ll be over this evening with dinner for me—she’s stayin’ with Ira and Luke until we get hitched in a couple weeks,” he added. “But why don’t ya wrap up a loaf of that monkey bread. Looks like somethin’ to get Adam and me through the afternoon while we’re puttin’ my downstairs rooms back together.”

  As she tucked a loaf of the cinnamon-scented confection into a cake box, Annie Mae could feel Adam gazing at her—ready to deliver another lecture, most likely—so she didn’t look at him. “There ya be, Bishop. Let me get your change—”

  “Nope, you keep the extra. Saves me walkin’ back to lay it on the table.” Tom’s eyes crinkled as he smiled at her. “You’ve got a real gift for servin’ folks, Annie Mae. Could be Miriam’s business is boomin’ partly because of the way ya take care of your customers.”

  “See ya tomorrow,” Adam added as they went to put on their coats. “That bacon cheeseburger was the best I’ve ever had.”

  Annie Mae gawked at the bishop’s generous tip. His compliment lingered like the aroma of Miriam’s baking clung to her clothes when she left the café each day. And while Adam, too, sounded polite and encouraging . . . their good intentions drifted away like the steam rising from the coffee she poured for Yonnie a few moments later. “So what’ll ya have?” she asked him. “The meat loaf special’s awfully gut, and Miriam’s sugar cream pie would be to your likin’, as I recall.”

  “You remember all the right things about me, sweet thing,” he murmured as his eyes narrowed alluringly. “I didn’t really come here to eat, but a slice of that pie would give me a chance to watch you move, wouldn’t it? And lose the specs.”

  On her way to the fridge in the kitchen, Annie Mae slipped the reading glasses into her apron pocket. Naomi, Hannah, and Miriam were all filling orders, so she plated a piece of the cream pie and hustled out of the kitchen before they could quiz her about Yonnie. Oh, but the smile on his face was a sight for her lonely eyes as she set his dessert on the table and then fetched the coffee carafe.

  “So how long do you figure to be waiting tables?” he asked as she refilled his mug.

  Her eyebrows rose. What could he mean by such a question? “Long as it takes,” she replied breezily.

  “Your dat’s really ticked off that you didn’t go with him to start his new colony,” Yonnie continued in a conversational tone. He cut the tip off his slice of pie. “Me, I was surprised you defied him that way, but impressed that you took your stand, too. I admire a girl who shows some backbone . . . not to mention such lovely body parts as—”

  “Yonnie!” Annie Mae rasped. “Other folks can hear ya!”

  He shrugged, forking up another bite of pie. “If you can’t take the heat, get out of the kitchen . . . and into my car.”

  To keep her face from getting any redder, Annie Mae refilled water glasses around the dining room, relieved that the fellows from Willow Ridge had already left the café. Since when had Yonnie Stoltzfus ever spoken to her dat? He’d made a point of remaining invisible, all those nights he’d come to fetch her after dark....

  Yet even as she stood at the coffee machine to make a fresh batch, Annie Mae basked in Yonnie’s comments . . . how he’d been impressed that she’d gone against her father’s orders. Then she settled up with a table of four English gals who also bought pies to take home. By the time she’d boxed up their desserts and made change, only one other couple remained eating lunch, so she had no other reasons to stall. With all the nonchalance she could muster, Annie Mae returned to Yonnie’s table.

  “And how was that pie?” she asked as she again topped off his coffee.

  “So when are we getting together?” he countered in a low voice. “I can’t wait forever. And neither can you, girlie.”

  She nearly dropped her pencil and order pad. This chat would be so much easier if Yonnie didn’t know so much about her, and yet . . . it was their shared experiences and secrets that fueled her longing. “I—I get off at two on Saturday,” she stammered. “That’ll just have to do ya.”

  “Oh, I’ll do you, all right.” Yonnie stood, towering above her as the scent of his spicy cologne tickled her senses. He placed his hands lightly on her shoulders, gazing down at her with a green-eyed triumph that made her shiver. “Somehow I’ll make it through Friday and Saturday morning,” he murmured. “Gives me more time to . . . rev up my engine. And it’ll be Valentine’s Day, too. Perfect.”

  He air-kissed her and then headed for the door, leaving his steaming coffee—and her—behind.

  Oh, I’ll do you, all right.

  Annie Mae shook herself out of the spell Yonnie Stoltzfus was so very good at casting. Only after she picked up his pie plate did she find the fifty-dollar bill he’d folded underneath it.

  Any fella who can drive a fancy car can afford to leave that kind of a tip, she reasoned as she stuffed the money in her pocket.

  And yet, as she rang up Yonnie’s bill—heard the loud roar of an engine, followed by the squeal of tires racing down the county blacktop—Annie Mae sensed that her Mennonite boyfriend might be paying it forward, for a lot more than pie. And for a lot more than he’d expected from her before.

  Chapter Twelve

  While Bishop Tom wrote out his check Saturday afternoon, Adam took a final look around the high-ceilinged yellow kitchen . . . walked to the door and gazed into the front room, with its fresh cream-colored walls. No two ways about it: he had accomplished minor miracles with his rollers, brushes, and fresh paint. And when Tom had shifted the contents of his pantry, closets, and the various nooks in this fine old home so Adam could paint them, he had also tossed out a lot of stuff.

  “Can’t thank ya enough for your gut work, Adam,” the bishop said as he ripped the check from his checkbook. “This place hasn’t looked so clean all at once since—well, maybe before the kids came along,” he confessed. “And denki for cartin’ off all those boxes of clothes and whatnot that still have some usefulness.”

  “Happy to help,” Adam replied. “I’ll haul them to the Mennonites’ missionary center over past Morning Star after lunch. We Amish don’t send people out to convert folks overseas, but I’m happy to donate stuff to that cause.”

  “I can’t wait to see Nazareth’s face tonight,” Tom continued gleefully. “She and Jerusalem have been too polite to say so, but the place got cluttered after Lettie left. Even though my girls cleaned for me every now and again, they couldn’t seem to pitch out their mamm’s stuff, or the odds and ends left from when they were kids.”

  “Matthias and I know all about that.” Adam chuckled. “Maybe I could hire you to clean out our place, Bishop.”

  Tom’s laughter rang around the fresh kitchen walls. “Not a chance. I’ll have a new wife makin’ me toe the line in just a week and a half,” he replied. “I haven’t been this excited since before I got hitched when I was your age, Adam.”

  As Adam climbed into his remodeling wagon, he had a lot to think about. Except for his gray-spangled hair and beard—and the crow’s-feet around his eyes—Bishop Tom looked like a fit, well-situated young man ready to move for ward . . . ready to be happy again. Something to be said for that, he thought as Jerry clip-clopped onto the pavement.

  But what young woman in her right mind would marry into the Wagler household? And why did he think he could be any more responsible for a wife than he’d been for his mamm?

  Adam sighed, urging his gelding closer to the shoulder so cars could get around his big wagon. While he’d been working at Tom’s he’d looked for an opening—a lead-in to confessing about his motorcycle and Mamm’s death . . . the physical and emotional “clutter” he’d hung on to for too long. Yet when gaps in their conversation had come, Adam hadn’t had the heart to ruin Tom’s happiness about marrying Nazareth by dredging up the past . . . the painful secret he couldn’t seem to move beyond.

  So here he was, still living in unresolved sorrow with Matthias, plodding down the same lonely road to nowhere, wondering w
here that road would lead him. . . .

  When Annie Mae spotted the sky blue sports car humming toward her after her shift on Saturday, her heartbeat played hopscotch. Even as she realized how out of kilter it looked for a Plain girl to be riding in such a vehicle—and this while English and Amish farmers stood in line to have their horses shod at Ben’s smithy—Annie Mae convinced herself she deserved this outing. High time she laughed and let go, after nearly two months of doing the right things, supporting Nellie and herself.

  The car eased off the road and purred to a stop in the café parking lot, a few feet short of where Annie Mae stood. As the doors rose like wings, Yonnie’s grin brought back old times. “Ready to ride, sweet thing?”

  She gaped at the shiny car and its driver. Cautiously she slid into the low seat, holding her breath as the doors lowered around them. “My word, Yonnie,” she whispered. “What sort of a wild contraption is this?”

  “It’s a BMW Spyder,” he replied. “Big improvement over what I used to drive—but so what? It’s good to see you, pretty girl.”

  “Jah, it’s gut to see you, too, Yonnie.” Annie Mae knew she looked pie-eyed, but she couldn’t help it. Her heartbeat was galloping so fast and loud, she couldn’t even hear the engine running.

  “You’re looking mighty fine, Annie Mae. And I’m betting you’ll taste even better than that pie you served up the other day, too,” he said. “Here—be my Valentine.” Yonnie reached behind her seat and then presented her with a bouquet of perfect, velvety red roses, in a sheath of lace and tied in a ribbon.

  Annie Mae gasped. “Oh my word, I—” While she’d heard of other Plain girls getting Valentine flowers, it was a delight only to be enjoyed during rumspringa. She inhaled the roses’ sweetness, searching for words. “Denki, Yonnie. Ya didn’t have to do this. We’ve been runnin’ around for a long time now, you and I.”

  “Maybe it’s time I wised up and treated you like the special girl you are.”

  Annie Mae struggled to bring her thoughts back down to Earth. She reached into her coat pocket for the two twenty-dollar bills she’d stashed there. “Ya forgot your change Thursday,” she said as she stuck the bills in his cup holder.

  Yonnie’s brow furrowed. “I intended for you to keep that so you could—”

  “Not goin’ down that road. That’s too much tip for a slice of pie and we both know it.”

  His expression tightened. “My money’s not good enough for you? Or are you too high and mighty to accept my help?”

  He might as well have cut off the roses’ blooms with his pocketknife. Annie Mae felt her hopes for a carefree afternoon plummet as he pulled over to the shoulder of the road. Was he going to put her out before they even left Willow Ridge?

  “Tell me to my face you don’t need that money,” he whispered, crooking his finger in that teasing way she knew so well.

  Still doubtful, Annie Mae leaned toward him—and then gasped into the openmouthed kiss Yonnie claimed her with. His lips probed hers, insistent and sweet. As he tried to slip the money down the neck of her dress, she giggled, swatting at his hand.

  “Humor me, sweet thing,” he murmured against the sensitive skin behind her ear. “Let’s not spoil a great day before it even gets started.”

  She couldn’t argue with that. But then, when had she ever been able to anticipate what Yonnie might do or say, much less make him behave as he should? As Annie Mae pocketed the bills, she settled into the plush depth of her bucket seat again, cradling her bouquet in her arms. “All right, we’ll do it your way,” she murmured. “I’m all for keepin’ it light and just havin’ a gut time. Like we used to.”

  His lips quirked as he pulled out onto the road. “Maybe it’s time to stop living in the past,” he suggested. “It’s not like you’ve signed on with the Old Order, so why not loosen up? You’d look really hot in tight jeans and a T-shirt with a hoodie—”

  “Like I’m gonna buy English clothes!”

  “So let me buy them for you. We both know Plain girls who’ve done that during their rumspringa,” he coaxed. “You could keep them at my place.”

  Annie Mae gazed out the car window. This wasn’t the first time they’d talked about her getting English clothes, because Yonnie wore them all the time. But he hadn’t had an apartment before . . . hadn’t sounded so insistent. “You’ve jumped the fence,” she realized out loud. “You’re never gonna join the church, are ya?”

  “And why are we talking about church?” He plucked at her black bonnet, flashing his most engaging grin. “C’mon, Annie Mae. Don’t tell me you’ve turned into a stick-in-the-mud—especially now that your dat’s not breathing down your neck anymore.”

  It was getting awfully warm in his little car. As Annie Mae removed her bonnet and unbuttoned her black woolen coat, she noticed the glowing lights and numbers behind the steering wheel . . . so many gauges moving at once. She wondered how Yonnie could watch the road. Then she gaped, pointing to a small screen on the dashboard. “What on God’s gut Earth—is that a picture of the road we’re on?”

  Yonnie grinned. “There’s a built-in computerized navigation system. It shows you where to turn and—well, I could program this car to take me to the California coast, and I wouldn’t need a map,” he explained proudly. “Paper maps like we studied in school are obsolete now. And it’ll also”—he tapped a button, which changed the picture—“show me what’s behind the car when I’m backing up. So I don’t hit anything.”

  Annie Mae shook her head, unable to grasp most of the things he’d just told her. The leather seat beneath her hand felt incredibly smooth and soft . . . rock music was pulsing softly from speakers behind her. For all she knew, this car might lift up off the road to soar above the snow-coated treetops if Yonnie were to push the right button. And where did he come by the money for a car like this? And why does he even care about seeing a Plain girl like—

  “You all right, Annie Mae? You got awfully quiet.” Yonnie’s face lit up with a sly smile, as though he knew he’d rendered her speechless.

  “Just feelin’ like a fish outta water. Wonderin’ where ya found such a fine job around here, to be drivin’ such a car.”

  When Yonnie shrugged, the sleeve of his leather coat whispered against his seat. “One of life’s little mysteries, eh? For once, I was in the right place at the right time . . . with the right employer wanting me to work for him.”

  “And what is it ya do now?” Annie Mae vividly recalled the modest farmhouse where Yonnie’s family lived, where the paint was peeling in places . . . where some of the boards in the barn’s loft had nearly given way when she and Yonnie had gone up there to horse around.

  Horse? Why do I suspect Yonnie’ll never drive a horse-drawn rig again?

  “I’m a city commissioner. On the zoning committee that decides about everything from new businesses to promotional programs that’ll attract residents, to—” Once again he shrugged, as though his new job wasn’t all that unusual for a fellow who’d been raised Plain. “Maybe you don’t recall, but I took some business classes at the junior college, and they’ve paid off. Big-time.”

  Annie Mae fought a scowl. Why did Yonnie’s answer seem to sidestep her question? And then again, why was she so skeptical? Miriam’s daughter Rebecca had learned her career in college, and Seth Brenneman had taken plumbing classes at a trade school....

  But they’re not driving cars that have doors like wings.

  She put her doubts aside, however, as Yonnie wrapped his strong, warm hand around hers. The important things never really changed, did they? No matter how much money you made, didn’t family—the love folks shared around their table each day—count for more than what your bank account showed?

  And it was nice to spend time with a man who made her feel special. Even if his new gristmill became a huge success, Luke Hooley would never invest in a fancier rig or talk to her in this quiet, intimate way. And it was a sure thing that Adam Wagler worked harder at his remodeling than he ever would at winning
a girl . . . even if he secretly had a motorcycle stashed in his barn, years after he’d committed to the Old Order.

  Guys. There’s just no figuring them out.

  Annie Mae closed her eyes, willing herself to go with the flow . . . to enjoy this outing with a fine-looking young man who’d always taken her beyond the box of her sheltered life. With Yonnie, she had experienced wild abandon—had glimpsed possibilities that would never have occurred to her with any other fellow she knew. And wasn’t that what rumspringa was all about? Didn’t the church teach that every experience, good or bad, came about as a part of God’s will?

  “I love it when you close your eyes, Annie Mae,” Yonnie murmured as he squeezed her hand. “I can see how you look when you’re kissing me . . . how your long lashes brush your cheeks and your skin turns pink like a rose.”

  Her face tingled with heat. She relaxed . . . sank deeper into the seat, which cradled her backside in warmth that surely must’ve come from a heater of some sort. “Nobody’s ever told me anything like that,” she admitted.

  “So let me be the first . . . to say all the things your heart longs to hear,” Yonnie responded softly. “You’ve always been my best girl, Annie Mae. We can make that a full-time situation, if you say the word.”

  As her eyes fluttered open, Annie Mae’s thoughts spun. Was he going to propose? Did he intend to marry her and—

  “So where are we?” she blurted when he turned onto a road that looked newly paved. Up ahead she saw buildings . . . a bank, a grocery store, and other shops that were still under construction, with a white schoolhouse beyond them. On the snow-covered hillside above those places stood new homes, all freshly painted and shining in the afternoon sunshine. When Yonnie’s car rolled slowly past a brick and stone marker, Annie Mae’s mouth fell open.

  “Higher Ground?” she demanded shrilly. “And why would ya be bringin’ me here, when ya know gut and well—”