There was nothing she could do about it, but she hoped Cassie started feeling better fast. She couldn’t imagine what lawyer tricks Cassie might have up her sleeve. Michael’s wife might be the only hope little Holly had of being raised by a loving, normal, family instead of Gertie Maddox.
Chapter 53
“I’ll be fine,” Cassie said, the morning after Michael had brought her back to his house in Sugarcreek. “Please go to work. There is no reason for you to stay.”
“What will you do while I’m gone?” he asked.
“Do you have Wi-Fi?”
“Of course. Why?”
“I plan to do some work on the situation with the Hochstetlers. I have to be back at the James Cancer hospital next week,” she said. “So I want to get as much research done as I can before I go back.”
“Do your incisions hurt?”
“Some,” she said. “But I’m going to try not to take any pain meds today if I can help it. I need for my mind to be sharp.”
“Tylenol,” he said. “You can at least take some Tylenol.”
“Of course,” she said. “I’ll take some Tylenol. Now, go take care of all your four-legged patients.”
There was love in her voice as she said that. Her husband had unpacked for her, placing her things in an empty bureau in his bedroom. His bed was not large, and he was still afraid of accidentally bumping into her in the night, so he’d brought in a fold-out cot and slept beside the bed. If she so much as got up to go to the bathroom, he was there to help.
In the past, that much solicitousness would have annoyed her. Now, having tried to tough it out on her own, she was unbearably grateful.
“I’ll be home at lunchtime,” he said. “I’ll call first and bring something from Joe’s Home Plate for you if you want. That’s Rachel’s husband’s restaurant. I usually eat there at least once a week. They have great burgers and baked beans and potato salad. Pies too, if you’re lucky. Does that sound good?”
“It does,” Cassie said. “Now, give me your password so I can log in.”
And still, he fussed. He made a thermos of tea for her. Laced it with honey like he knew she preferred, then stood looking at her all worried-eyed before he left.
“Seriously, Michael,” she said. “Am I going to have to threaten to go back to Columbus so you’ll leave for work?”
He looked as though she had slapped him.
“That was a joke, Michael,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“I’ll be back at lunch,” he said, and then left.
“Note to self.” She could hear his truck starting up. “Don’t try to joke, Cassie. You aren’t good at it.”
She had barely gotten logged onto Michael’s Wi-Fi when there was a quick knock on the door, then the door opened and Keturah stuck her head in.
“I saw Michael leave,” Keturah said. “I thought maybe you’d like some company while he is gone.”
For a moment, the old Cassie almost came back. Her first instinct was to tell Keturah that she was busy. That she had work to do. That she did not need any company today.
Instead, she shoved the old Cassie, the woman she had grown to dislike, into the background, stepped outside her comfort zone, and met Keturah’s bright smile with one of her own. “I’d absolutely love some company today.”
“Oh good! I have a surprise for you.”
Keturah opened the door all the way, and there stood Agnes, with a baby in her arm, three older children, and another woman also holding a baby whom Keturah introduced as her other daughter-in-law, Betty.
“Well, hello,” Cassie said, bemused by being inundated with company again. This was the most entertaining she’d done in years, and was apparently going to be doing it whether she wanted to or not. “Please, make yourself at home. Have a seat.”
“Oh, we didn’t come to sit.” Keturah was, yet again, holding the picnic basket. “We wanted to keep you company on Old Christmas while we made candy for the children.”
“Old Christmas?”
“January sixth,” Agnes said. “Today.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of an Old Christmas.”
“Not every Amish family observe it, but some of us still celebrate the old ways,” Keturah said. “It’s supposed to be the day that the magi brought gifts to the baby Jesus. We fast for the first part of the day, but we break our fast at noon. After a nice meal, we give the children homemade candy. I sometimes tell my grandchildren about the gold, frankincense and myrrh that the magi brought Jesus. It’s also a day for visiting—so we decided to bring Old Christmas to you.”
“And unless you object, we’re going to make the candy right here, you lucky girl, you!” Betty laughed. “Agnes and I weren’t sure you would welcome us coming in on you like this, but Maam insisted.”
Cassie’s mind was whirling. All these children and women would be here all day? Making candy? When would she have any time to do any work?
“We should go,” Agnes saw her hesitation. “I don’t think Cassie is feeling up to all this commotion today.”
The old Cassie would have agreed and seen them out the door with pretend regrets. The old Cassie would have been appalled at the idea of spending the day with women she barely knew, and children running all over the house.
The new Cassie, the woman who had experienced such loneliness that she thought she would suffocate from it, decided that today was going to be a good day to be surrounded by new friends.
“It will be nice to hear other people’s voices today. I’ve never made candy of any kind whatsoever. It sounds fascinating. I’ll enjoy learning.”
Keturah bustled into the kitchen. “Come on in, children. Wash your hands. We will be needing your help.”
Later, when Michael called about lunch, she told him not to bother, that she was well cared for. When he came home from work in the late afternoon, she had a plate of various chocolates, hard candies, and caramels—all homemade. Plus a roast in the oven that Keturah had discovered in the freezer and put in a Dutch oven for her and Michael’s supper.
She was still terribly sore from the surgery and glassy-eyed from consuming too much sugar, but she was also content in ways that she had never experienced before. Today, in spite of everything, had been truly lovely. Betty was such fun. She couldn’t remember laughing so much in pretty much forever.
By the time they had eaten the roast, and Michael had sampled the candy, she realized that her strength had finally, once again, completely given out. Michael tucked her back onto the old green couch and she dozed while he straightened the kitchen.
It had been an amazing gift of a day.
Chapter 54
Ivan was meeting with the bishop, ministers, and deacon of his church early in the morning, before services started. He had come without Keturah so that he could talk privately with these men. He had asked for the meeting, and it was going to be a hard one. Never had he dreamed that he would have to do such a thing.
It was Bishop Samuel Yost’s family who were hosting church this Sunday morning. Samuel’s home was large. Its high-ceilinged basement was well able to accommodate the thirty-seven families who made up their church fellowship. For privacy, however, since Samuel’s wife was busy getting things ready for the meal that would follow, the men met in the barn.
“And what is this worry you have,” Bishop Yost said, when the six solemn men were assembled. “Is it about your Noah becoming interested in Beth Yoder? If so, I share your concern.”
Samuel’s words surprised Ivan. Noah had not mentioned the Yoder girl to him since the night the Christmas baby was born. Ivan had hoped that the relationship had blown over. Apparently, not if others had noticed. He had been remiss in not keeping Noah in the forefront of his prayers. Too many other things had crowded that concern out.
“It is not about my Noah,” Ivan said. “Not yet, anyway. The reason I asked to talk with you is because I have been told there are those who are threatening to name our church along with my wife in a wrongf
ul death suit because of our ban against cell phones. Although my wife acted righteously in saving that baby’s life, it is because of her actions that we might have to deal with the Englisch court system. I am told that she might have to testify, and that the lawyer is full of tricks.”
“It is indeed a hard situation,” Bishop Sam Yost said. “We already knew, and have been in prayer about it, as I’m sure you have also. Has the Lord given you any wisdom?”
“I cannot honestly say that God has spoken to my heart, and yet I know what I must do. I cannot allow my church to suffer because of what has befallen us. I will soon become too old to continue working the land my father gave me. My son, Reuben, has a daadi haus he has offered for his mother and me. I want the church to know that, if these people continue to push and demand, I will sell my farm if I must—for money to satisfy their greed so that they will go away and leave our church alone.”
“But is greed ever satisfied?” Bishop Yost asked.
“He makes a good point,” Adam Miller, one of their older ministers spoke up. “From what I have seen, greed is like a fire. Feeding it only makes it grow. I think if these Englisch people who want to sue you are successful, they will come back even stronger and demand more.”
“I had not thought of that,” Ivan said.
“We appreciate you trying to protect our church, but it is not your place to protect us, Ivan. It is God’s,” Bishop Yost said. “It is maybe a little hochmut for you to think that selling your farm will solve so many problems. You believe this sacrifice will protect Keturah from having to testify, as well as protecting us from being sued for our ban on cell phones. You are placing too much importance on your own abilities and possessions.”
“You are right, Bishop.” Ivan had not realized that his actions could be seen in this light. He accepted Samuel’s mild criticism with humility. “I appreciate your instruction.”
“You have lived long enough to see that there is wisdom in waiting, and that is what I am counseling now. Wait and pray for the Lord to provide a way of escape for you and for our church. Do not begin the process of selling your farm. Your son, Noah, may have great need of it before long. I have seen signs that the Yoder girl is putting away some of her rebellious ways. Perhaps it is that your son is having a godly influence on her?”
“That would be a welcome thing, indeed,” Ivan said.
“Keturah is a good woman,” Bishop Yost said. “She has done much good in her lifetime. You have been a wise husband to allow her the freedom to care for our young mothers. We need faith that somehow the Lord will find a way to turn all of this around. That neither you nor we will be forced to go into the Englisch courts, and that the Christmas baby will be given to the family who will care for it best.”
When church was finished, Ivan went home feeling lighter than he had since this whole business with the lawsuit had started. No one could ever blame him for not having been willing to sacrifice his home for the church. He would heed the bishop’s advice and wait for the Lord to sort things out.
Chapter 55
“Rachel?” Joe said. “Can you stop by your aunts? Darren went over to pick up some pies over an hour ago and he’s still not back. It’s a ten-minute trip. He’s not answering his phone and, not only are we completely out of Lydia’s pie, I need Darren’s help with the prep work this afternoon to get ready for the supper crowd.”
“Will do.” Rachel turned off her computer. Two girls on the missing person’s list had looked promising but, on a closer examination, there had been a butterfly tattoo on one, and a birthmark on the other. Lily had no birthmarks or tattoos. Later, she intended to make another trip to Cleveland to see if she could pry more information out of Mabel about Gertie.
The Amish school beside the Sugar Haus Inn was in full swing as she drove into her aunts’ graveled driveway. The older girls were playing Duck, Duck, Goose in the snow with the younger children. The boys had built two snow forts, amassed a cache of snowballs, and were having fun pelting each other with snowballs.
Unlike the Englisch schools, Amish children did not take a Christmas break. Instead, they got out of school much earlier in the spring than non-Amish children.
It was a pretty sight, the different ages, everyone outdoors playing, including the young teacher who was also involved in the Duck, Duck, Goose game.
Darren’s car was still there in the driveway, which worried her. What could have prevented him from taking the pies back? Perhaps they were not quite done when he arrived?
The sight that greeted her when she entered the kitchen was upsetting. Lydia was sitting in her rocker, not rocking, not talking, just staring. Bertha was peeling apples at the table and scowling. Anna was sitting in a corner, looking afraid. Darren was standing at the table in an apron, trying to roll out pie crusts.
“What on earth?” Rachel exclaimed as she came through the door. “What’s happened?”
“Your husband, and that restaurant, and that famous chef telling everyone about Lydia’s pies, has broken my sister—that’s what’s happened!” Bertha said.
Rachel went and knelt down in front of Lydia.
“Do you need to go to bed, Lydia?” she asked. “Are you feeling unwell?”
“Got to make more pies,” Lydia mumbled.
“What happened?” Rachel asked Bertha. “What can I do?”
“I think she’s had a nervous breakdown,” Bertha said. “She just keeps sitting there talking about having to make more pies.”
“Should we take her to the hospital?” Rachel asked.
“And spend all the money she’s saved up from making all those pies?” Bertha shook her head. “I don’t think so. The only thing I can think to do is actually make the pies. I’ve got her recipe here. I think, once we get them finished, maybe she’ll go to bed then. And Joe needs to find a local bakery to make his pies from now on. Lydia’s had it and so have I.”
Rachel looked at Bertha, trying to peel nearly a bushel of apples by herself. Anna, looking frightened. And Darren, flour all over himself and the floor, awkwardly trying to roll out pie crusts. She made a decision.
“This is enough,” she said. “This has to stop, and it has to stop now. I’ll be right back.”
She marched next door to the school house, and had a short conversation with Naomi, the schoolteacher, who was also one of Rachel’s oldest friends. When Rachel returned, she had four eighth-grade girls with her.
The cavalry, in the form of four young Amish girls, had landed.
They entered the door, and the girls, all of them fourteen-years-old, and well-trained in domestic work by their mothers, made quick work of removing their coats and black bonnets.
“I brought reinforcements,” Rachel told Darren and Bertha. “Darren, you need to go back to the restaurant and help Joe with the prep work for the supper crowd. Flora,” she turned to the nearest girl, “grab a knife and start peeling apples. June,” she pointed to another, “you start mixing more pie crust together. The lard is in that tin bucket. Flour is in the twenty-pound sack sitting on the chair. You other two, help clean and then do whatever else Lydia here tells you to do.”
“Is this the recipe?” June asked, holding up a small sheet of paper with careful handwriting on it.
“It is,” Bertha said, relinquishing her best paring knife to Flora.
June peeked into the red canister sitting on the table. “How many pies are we making? Looks like we might need to get more sugar.”
“I’ll take care of that,” Rachel said, grabbing her keys. “Anything else?”
“Cinnamon,” Lydia said, coming out of her trance. “We need more cinnamon.”
Rachel and Bertha glanced at her, surprised.
“Are you feeling better, Aunt Lydia?” Rachel asked.
“You know what?” Lydia stood up. “I believe I am. When you go get the cinnamon, bring back a dozen lemons. And a couple oranges. I always put a little orange zest in with the sugar.”
“What sort of a design do y
ou put in the crust?” June asked. “My mom makes one that looks like a wheat stalk.”
“I do too,” Lydia said. “But make sure you brush some melted butter onto the crust to help it brown. If one of you girls will help, I think it might be good to make four more chocolate pies as well. There’s a lot of stirring that goes into a chocolate pie.”
The competence of these girls would have been surprising to most Englisch people, but each one had been working beside their mothers since they were toddlers. Each one was capable of creating a good meal for a large family with little or no help. Rachel thought that maybe, if today went well, she would talk to Naomi about the possibility of having a section of home economics—taught by Aunt Lydia—each afternoon after school, for which the girls would get paid.
“We need more firewood,” a girl named Violet said. She sailed out the back door, came back in with a small armload, and expertly stacked inside the firebox.
Amish teenagers. Some of the most competent people on earth. It was the perfect answer. Rachel could kick herself for not thinking of it earlier.
“Butter,” Lydia instructed. “Make sure each apple pie has one half cup of butter sliced into the apple slices. No more no less. Nice apple slices, Flora. Thin but not too thin. Just right. Rachel, go get that sugar and cinnamon. Some more baker’s chocolate too. I think maybe Joe won’t run out of pies tonight after all.”
Anna stood up from the stool where she’d been watching, wide-eyed in the corner.
“Can I come with you, Rachel?”
“Of course,” Rachel said.
“Me, too,” Bertha said. “I could use a cold soda pop right now. Never did care much for cooking.”
Going to Cleveland was not going to be an option today, but today had been an emergency. Worse things had happened in their family than Lydia falling apart from too much baking, but there hadn’t been many.
Love Rekindled: Book 3 Page 24