A Path Made Plain

by Lynette Sowell

  Mammi had gone, leaving him the kitchen. He’d forgotten until returning from the market with all the ingredients that his Mammi didn’t use an electric mixer. However, the lack of electric baking tools wouldn’t hinder him.

  His wrist had a muscle spasm the longer he beat the softened cream cheese. He stopped, set the wooden spoon into the bowl, then flexed and rotated his wrist as he pondered what to do next about the mysterious Daniel Troyer.

  He needed more information about Daniel. One thing he knew, the Plain people kept track of each other, no matter what the distance. If a family moved to another district, the church would verify who they were, what occupation they held, and their standing in the fellowship. The sensation of living in a fishbowl chafed at him, even with the distance of time.

  Troyer, a common enough name. Thad guessed there were likely dozens of Daniel Troyers in the Plain world, and perhaps a few who weren’t. Before venturing to question the man himself, Thad figured there had to be another way to find out more about him.

  Henry Hostetler might help him. But then, Thad didn’t want to alarm anyone in the village, not if Daniel were a good man and the whole thing was a misunderstanding. However, why would someone pose as a dead man in Pinecraft? Was he on the run, or hiding from someone? Or maybe he’d merely committed the sin of wearing a fancy watch.

  Thad had enjoyed his quiet for the past weeks, but he hadn’t assumed another name. It wouldn’t work, pretending to be someone else. Everyone in the village knew who he was, and some wouldn’t speak to him. He refused to let it bother him. Because not everyone ignored him. He knew a few probably prayed for his mortal soul. If he was a sinner, at least he was honest about it. Daniel Troyer was likely no more suspicious than he.

  The timer dinged, jerking his attention back to the pie. Thad removed the baked crust from the oven. Perfect. He knew his crusts rivaled the quality of any Amish housewife’s.

  Thad glanced at his phone. He ought to call Henry now, before it grew much later, and before Mammi returned home. She was out visiting a friend again and making plans for their food booth at January’s Haiti auction. And before coming to stay with his Mammi, Thad had believed all she did was sit around her home most of the day and quilt or cook.

  He picked up his phone and punched in Henry’s number.

  Henry answered after the second ring. “Good evening, Mr. Zook. How are you?”

  “Doing well, Henry. I have something I need to speak with you about. While my Mammi is out tonight, preferably.”

  “I’m just turning onto Bahia Vista now. I can be there in about five minutes.”

  “Thank you, thanks very much.”

  “It sounds serious.”

  “Well, it could be. It might be nothing, but I’d rather get your opinion than be wrong.”

  “Ah. Fill me in when I get there.”

  “I’ll get the coffee brewing, if you’d like.”

  “Certainly, it’s getting chilly out here.”

  Thad ended the call, then started the coffee pot. No rush on the pie, as the crust needed to be completely cool before he layered the filling inside.

  His recipe called for vanilla pudding mix and whipped cream. He made a stovetop vanilla pudding, which he allowed to cool beside the pie crust on the stove. A knock sounded at the front door just as Thad removed a metal mixing bowl from the freezer. Time to make some real whipped cream after he answered the door and let Henry in.

  Thad opened the front door. “Come on in, Henry. I’m finishing a pie.”

  “As in eating? I can give you a hand with that.” Henry rubbed his palms together.

  “No. Making a pie.” He grinned at Henry’s glee. “But I know Mammi has some dessert on hand, if you want.”

  “Naw, I’m just kidding.” Henry inhaled deeply as he entered the kitchen. “Love the smell of brewing coffee.”

  “Here’s a cup. Pour away.” Thad set a ceramic mug in front of the coffeemaker.

  Henry helped himself to the coffee, then took a seat at the kitchen table. “What kind are you making?”

  “Tiramisu, sort of like the Italian dessert.” Thad poured the heavy whipping cream into the chilled bowl, then grabbed a nearby whisk. “Other than the crust, it’s no-bake, but involves lots of stirring.”

  “So, what did you need to talk to me about?”

  “There’s a man in the village, visiting, supposedly from Indiana. But, well, someone is wondering if he’s not who he says he is. And, it’s important they find out if it’s true or not. So they asked me if I could do some looking around on the Internet and make a few phone calls. And I did.”

  He kept whipping the cream with the whisk. Good grief, but he loved mixers with commercial grade motors. This manual stirring was for the birds. He bit his lip and had a flashback to culinary school, one of the old lessons, learning how to mix and blend by hand, without benefit of an electric mixer. He’d aced it then, but he’d also been much younger.

  “Huh, you don’t say. Wouldn’t be Daniel Troyer, by chance?”

  Thad nodded. “How’d you guess?”

  “I had Thanksgiving with the Yoders and Keims. Daniel was there.” He looked as though he wanted to say more, but he took a sip of coffee instead.

  “Betsy is concerned about her aunt.”

  “Of course, she’s protective of Rochelle. We all are. But then, we take care of one another here in the village.”

  Thad grunted and stopped whipping the cream for a moment to give his wrist a break. “I don’t know if you can find out anything more, but I called the company he supposedly works for. Daniel Troyer died earlier this year.”

  “Maybe it’s a different company.”

  “Maybe. It would be nice to be wrong. I know I’ve had people make wrong assumptions about me.” Thad resumed whipping the cream. The consistency was thickening. Perfect.

  “How so?”

  Thad shrugged. “Because I didn’t join the Order, I’m an evil person.”

  “Do you think you’re an evil person?”

  “No. But if there’s no hope for me outside the Order, why try?” He whipped the cream faster. “I have nothing to prove to them, or anyone else. I have nothing to hide. But people still make assumptions when they look at me.”

  “Truthfully, Thaddeus, we all fall short. The Order? It’s like the letter of the law. It was intended to keep people secure. But for the wrong reasons, in our own strength, we can’t fulfill it all. Sure, people make up inconsequential rules for the sake of rules. But although we are made in God’s image, because of the Fall, there is none truly righteous. We all stand on level ground, no matter what we wear or how we look. Beards and Plain clothing can mask a dark heart. But you need to decide for yourself what you believe.”

  Thad slowed his pace on the cream, now forming stiff peaks. If he kept up much longer, it would break down again. Religion, it was all the same. God, if You are real, You wouldn’t make it so impossible.

  He swallowed around the lump in his throat before continuing. “Tell that to the rest of them. You know how it is, growing up, doing anything to stand out from the others is discouraged. My daed hates I bake for a living. Women’s work. Ach, yes, I have rarely heard of a daadi knitting socks or a winter scarf. Men don’t bake for a living, and of course, they’re not supposed to go get an education. I didn’t want anything so wrong. I’m happy you gave me a chance to work for you, but in fact, construction’s not my thing.”

  He shouldn’t have opened his mouth about people making assumptions about him. Thad realized, too, his last spiel to Henry had been in Dietsch. The words had poured out, from somewhere deep inside. He didn’t fumble or reach for them.

  No matter how he talked, or how he covered up his arm, he still didn’t belong.

  “I left my Order as a young man, not long after my wife and I married.” Henry stared at his mug as if he could see the memories unfolding. “We found grace, we didn’t have to discipline ourselves to please God, but our love for Him makes us want to pleas
e Him. His commands aren’t burdensome, either. I am reminded every day I need a Savior, and salvation isn’t by my own strength. There are other reasons we left. But we didn’t leave God. In fact, we know Him just as well outside the Order as inside, if not better.”

  “I’m glad it worked out for you.” Thad tried to sound sincere, and part of him was. Henry had a peace steadily glowing from within, even in the most mundane of jobs. You couldn’t help smiling at a man who wore a tropical print shirt along with suspenders to hold up his trousers.

  You need to decide for yourself what you believe …

  “Well, I didn’t mean to start preaching at you. All I can do is share with you what it’s been like for me. God always listens to a repentant soul, Plain or not Plain.” Henry stood, then headed for the coffee pot for another cup. “Anyway, tell me all you know about Daniel Troyer and I’ll see what I can find out. Like you said, if it’s nothing but a misunderstanding, fine. We’ll say no more. But if this man isn’t who he says he is, I must go to the Amish bishop.”

  19

  It seemed half the male congregation from Pinecraft’s Old Order fellowship had found their way to Aenti Chelle’s house. Maybe not half, but judging by the number of beards in the living room, Betsy felt gravely outnumbered. Winston sat in the corner in his bed, blinking and looking around at the assembly. Betsy wanted to scoop him up and find a place to hide.

  By the time she arrived at Aenti Chelle’s after closing the shop, her parents were waiting for her. The expression on Daed’s face made her insides quake just a little. Vera Byler must have told someone, Betsy wasn’t quite sure who, about the news producer coming to the bakery and wanting to do a show about Pinecraft Pies and Pastry. Wondering wouldn’t make the group in the front room or their questions go away.

  Aenti Chelle waited in the kitchen, watching the coffee brew and slicing apple bread. She told Betsy she’d be praying, just before Betsy went to face the group.

  “Hello,” Betsy told them all, as she surveyed the room and the faces sorted themselves out. All right, the faces belonged to her daed, four oncles, and her daadi. Three other men she recognized from church, along with the local bishop. So it wasn’t quite half the congregation.

  “We understand the local television station wants to film in your bakery,” said the bishop. “They want to record for several days and create an hour-long feature about the bakery, too?”

  “Oh, no, that’s not how it is.” Betsy shook her head.

  “Did you agree to this?” Daed asked before she could continue.

  “No, Daed, I did not. I knew I’d have to speak to you and the family first. Also, the lady told me my part of the show will only last about five minutes.”

  “I don’t know if it’s wise to go on television.” Uncle Joseph, usually the quietest of her oncles, spoke up. “We do want to sell as much pie as we can and turn a profit. But Pinecraft has had so many cameras and filmmakers coming through.” He glanced at the bishop, who was nodding.

  Betsy squared her shoulders. “A long time ago, one television company filmed part of a show at Yoder’s about their pies, and it was nearly thirty minutes long.” She didn’t add that she’d watched it on Aenti Chelle’s computer.

  “It’s not the show I’m talking about.”

  Betsy knew the one. Some time ago, a group of former Amish youths, none from her area, were being filmed for a television show. Rumor at the time had it they were trying to stir up trouble and get the Amish and Mennonites angry at them, then record the whole thing for television. She’d been horrified. Why would people do such things? For money, she’d heard. She remained silent.

  “Did you tell this producer you weren’t going to be filmed?” Now it was Daadi’s turn to question her.

  “No, not quite.” She bit her lip. “We didn’t talk about much because I didn’t want to commit to anything before I talked to Daed.”

  The bishop said nothing as the men talked about film crews passing through the neighborhoods, journalists interviewing some of the residents. To Betsy’s inner delight, she realized not all of them were against the idea of the news station filming at the bakery.

  “All right.” The two words from Bishop Smucker silenced them all. “Elizabeth, I assume you are interested in having the news station record at the bakery. What are the benefits of this happening, and how would you conduct yourself if we allowed it?”

  She swallowed hard. “I’m not the first Plain person to run a business the Englisch will want to visit. Since I’ve returned to Pinecraft and opened the bakery, I feel the weight of responsibility with spending my family’s investment. My daed, my daadi, and my oncles are counting on me paying them back and also earning a profit, like my oncle said.”

  Betsy glanced from face to face. Her family had to agree with what she’d just told everyone. Didn’t they? Why invest hard-earned money in a venture if it would fail? Why not use every legal—and honest—opportunity to bring in more business?

  “Go on,” the bishop said.

  “It’s expensive to advertise on television. I’ve only been able to advertise in the newspaper twice. The lady who runs the Pinecraft Village site on the Internet has also been writing about the bakery.” Betsy paused. “So, in a way, I think this five minutes of television time is like free advertising.”

  “Sometimes free things aren’t free,” Daadi interjected. “How do we know this won’t cause trouble for us?”

  “Being on television has been good for Yoder’s. People come from all over the country to visit Yoder’s when they are in Sarasota.” Her words surprised her. Gotte must be answering Aenti’s prayers.

  “What’s going on in here? What’s the ruckus about?” Aenti Sarah stood in the doorway and glared at her brother. “Jacob, why didn’t you tell me we were having company?”

  “A television station wants to visit the bakery and put it on the air,” Daadi replied.

  “Aenti, you should have asked for help getting out of bed.” Aenti Chelle was at Aenti Sarah’s side in a flash, her chide gentle.

  “I heard voices. Anyway, it’s time I do some getting out of bed on my own. The physical therapist wants me to use the rolling walker from the hallway to the kitchen.”

  “All right. But be careful.” Aenti Chelle drew back into the kitchen but stood close by.

  Betsy smiled for the first time since leaving the bakery that afternoon. Aenti Sarah might have had major surgery to repair a broken hip, but certainly her liveliness wasn’t affected. No, she couldn’t have borne the idea of Aenti being in an Englisch “rehab home” as she recovered from her surgery.

  “Well?” Aenti looked at Daadi as she pushed her Rollator into the living room and made a beeline for the nearest open chair. She gingerly settled herself onto the seat.

  “You were sleeping, Sarah. I didn’t want us to bother you.”

  “No, I was only resting my eyes a bit after supper. Now, as you asked me to help with the bakery, I have. Until my hip broke. But I still consider myself part of the business.” Aenti Sarah then switched her focus to Betsy. “Elizabeth has conducted herself properly and I believe she would do the same even with the television people visiting us all day.” High praise, coming from her aenti. Betsy tried not to look triumphant. The bishop could still forbid her to go on television, or the bakery at all.

  “Bishop Smucker, what say you then?” Daadi asked the man who had watched the exchange between brother and sister with an amused expression. Betsy tried to imagine her grandfather and great-aunt as children, debating over some matter of importance in a child’s world.

  The bishop stroked his beard, long wisps of snowy hair. “I’m not encouraging the bakery to go on television. However, since the television station contacted Elizabeth, I think she may proceed.”

  Betsy wanted to clap, but instead clasped her hands together in front of her. She opened her mouth, but Bishop Smucker continued.

  “Please, consider carefully how this will be filmed. Make it clear that you will n
ot be posing or parading yourself. And the Zook young man …”

  Now Betsy’s heart seemed to leap into her throat. “Yes, Bishop?”

  “He may help you with preparations as he has been. However, he is not to be on camera.”

  “I understand.” Betsy nodded. Too bad for Thaddeus. He deserved quite a bit of the credit for the bakery’s success since Aenti Sarah’s surgery. There was no way she could have enough doughnuts and pastries ready every morning, and not spend her time on the sales floor yawning at everyone.

  “I have fresh coffee, if you would all like some. And, there’s warm apple bread in the kitchen I’ll bring in, too.” Aenti Chelle stood in the doorway. Steam rose from a cluster of coffee mugs on a tray.

  “Why, certainly,” said Bishop Smucker.

  As Aenti Chelle passed her, she said to Betsy, “Betsy, if you’d grab the sugar, cream, and some spoons, to put on the coffee table?”

  “Right away.” Betsy wanted to skip from the room. Despite what she considered meddling by Vera Byler, the bakery would get a chance to be on television after all. She thought about her favorite dress, which was a vivid blue almost matching the color of the Florida sky.

  She wouldn’t pose for the camera, but if the producer wanted to film over her shoulder, or somehow record her rolling out pie dough, the dress would be a good color. A smile tugged at her lips as she pulled some spoons from the silverware drawer. She could hardly wait to tell Thaddeus.

  And maybe Thaddeus had some information for her about Daniel Troyer. She sealed her lips together. So far this evening he hadn’t come by, and Aenti Chelle said he was supposed to walk her to Big Olaf’s for some ice cream.

  “Oh, Betsy?” Aenti Sarah’s voice drifted into the kitchen. “I need some sugar, please.”

  “Coming, Aenti Sarah.”

  Betsy allowed herself a few bounces on her toes before settling her stride to something more appropriate for an adult. But Pinecraft Pies and Pastry was going to be on television!