Autumn Winds

by Charlotte Hubbard

  Rhoda took in their chatter as she quickly ate her breakfast, but she didn’t miss the way Mamma had passed off answering about that pie and why so much of the casserole was gone. When she looked out into the café’s main room to see what Naomi was talking about, her jaw dropped. Didn’t anyone else see the obvious? “So how’d ya get that tarp up over the hole in the window, Mamma?” she quizzed.

  Her mother quickly swished her hands in the dishwater. “Just a sec—that’s the phone ringin’,” she chirped before she bustled to the shanty out back.

  Rhoda raised her eyebrows at Naomi. “Has she told ya how that big tree limb got taken outta the dinin’ room? It’s for sure and for certain Mamma didn’t heft it outside by herself!”

  Her mother’s partner shrugged. “It’s life’s little mysteries that keep things interestin’, ain’t so? I’m bidin’ my time. She’ll fill us in when she’s gut and ready.”

  Her sister Rachel loaded a tray with plates for the buffet, and then Rhoda followed her twin into the main dining room. “Ya don’t suppose Hiram saw the lights on and came over to—”

  “Mamma wouldn’t be steppin’ so lively or wearin’ that kitty-cat grin for him, Sister! I’m thinkin’—”

  The loud whine of a chain saw cut into their chatter, so they both went to the window to see who was revving it up. Outside, the dawn was veiled in mist and the crimson leaves of the maple tree out front still dripped from the morning’s downpour—except where the storm had left a raw, jagged edge after ripping off one of its thickest main branches. The road glistened a shiny black. Rachel’s beau, Micah Brenneman, grinned at them before he started slicing the downed tree limb into pieces.

  Rachel blew him a kiss and then shrugged at Rhoda; no sense in trying to talk above the racket of that saw. And no reason to believe their mother was keeping any secrets. Micah came here nearly every day to see to any maintenance work before he and his brothers sat down to their breakfast in the Sweet Seasons Café. He might have come in to clear away the broken window and hang that tarp when he heard that big piece of tree snap in the storm . . . or he might not have.

  With a frustrated sigh, Rhoda wrapped silverware in napkins and then stacked the white bundles in a dishpan, the same as she did every morning, while Rachel checked the condiments and put place settings on the tables. Her mother had returned to the kitchen and was chatting with Naomi as they filled a roaster with sliced apples, which would be simmered with butter, brown sugar, and cinnamon for the morning’s buffet. Maybe Micah’s mother could wait for the solution to the little mystery that surrounded them, but Rhoda wanted answers!

  “So ya were here when that tree branch came through the window, Mamma?” she called in to them. “Must’ve scared the livin’ daylights out of ya. I know it sounded mighty scary at the house, with all that crashin’ thunder.”

  “Jah, and if we’d known you’d already sneaked over here,” Rachel chided, “we’d have grabbed ya between us and hauled ya back home, too! Ya need your sleep, Mamma!”

  Mamma and Naomi turned from their work, their knives going still in their hands. “One of these days, you’ll be old enough to wake up wonderin’ about things. Or there’ll come a time when ya sleep alone after havin’ a husband,” their mother pointed out. “Then you’ll understand the comfort of keepin’ your hands busy.”

  “Amen to that!” Naomi agreed. “I can’t recall the last night I slept clear through without bein’ pestered by some bothersome thought or another—or Ezra’s achin’ and painin’. Better to be up and doin’ instead of lyin’ there stewin’.”

  “And what would ya be frettin’ about, Mamma?” Rachel asked. “Thanks to Bob Oliveri and Rebecca, ya kept your restaurant. Ya surely can’t be worried that nobody’ll eat your pumpkin pies tomorrow!”

  “Puh! Pies’re the least of my worries,” Mamma replied. She went back to slicing those apples as though that would help her think of what to say next. “Seems like when I shed my black dresses for color, I switched one problem for another.”

  Rhoda exchanged a look with her twin. “Ach, now, Mamma. Didn’t Rachel and Rebecca and I promise ya there’d be no hitchin’ up with the bishop?”

  Naomi let out a laugh. “Ya think Hiram knows about that?”

  “Or cares?” Mamma blurted. “And don’t you girls be spreadin’ it around, what we’re talkin’ about right now! We’ll be takin’ on trouble for sure and for certain.”

  “Jah, nothin’ Hiram Knepp likes better than to be told he can’t do somethin’, or can’t be in charge,” Naomi agreed. “Wouldn’t surprise me one little bit if he got right personal with your mamm tomorrow at his party. With a birthday like fifty-five, a fella gets more . . . determined to go after what he wants. Before time runs out on him.”

  Rhoda rolled her eyes at her sister. “All right then, our lips’re sealed. But we’re keepin’ watch over ya, Mamma. Now what’s the breakfast menu—and what lunch specials are we servin’, so I can write them on the whiteboard?”

  As she waited for her mother and Naomi to discuss what they had in the fridge for today—and what would make best use of the potatoes, pumpkins, and all those apples Aunt Leah and the neighbors were bringing in, Rhoda realized they’d had this very same conversation yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that. And while she considered herself as patient as anyone she knew, she wondered when things would ever be different for her. With Rachel marrying Micah at the end of this month, and moving into the big white house they’d lived in all their lives—not to mention Mamma being hounded by Hiram Knepp, and being gawked at by a few other fellows—it seemed as if she was the only one standing still. Stuck in a rut.

  “We’re havin’ the usual stuff on the breakfast menu, along with fried apples, this breakfast sandwich casserole, and pumpkin-blueberry muffins on the buffet,” Mamma finally called out to her. “Lunch buffet’s gonna include ham balls, baked yams and apples, and loaded potato casserole. We’ve got apple crisp and fudge ripple cake for dessert, along with whatever pies we put together by that time.”

  “Jah, jah,” Rhoda said with a sigh. Again, as she carefully wrote on the whiteboard, it occurred to her that even the menu didn’t change a lot from day to day—but then, the locals who ate here didn’t seem to mind that, and the English tourists didn’t know the difference.

  “And why’s that serious look puckerin’ up your face, Sister?” Rachel had found some bittersweet in the woods and was tucking it into the table vases along with silk mums they’d used last fall. “You’re goin’ to the singin’ tomorrow night, ain’t so? Hopin’ to match up with Jonah Zook or Seth Brenneman afterwards?”

  “Most likely.” Rhoda shrugged. Here again, she’d known Jonah and Seth all their lives and they hadn’t really changed, either. More like part of the landscape, they were—fellows she took for granted, rather than anyone who made her heart pound the way Rachel said Micah’s kisses did.

  Kisses. Now there was a topic she wanted to know more about! At twenty-one, what girl didn’t? If too many more autumns passed her by, day after day the same—even though she’d be living in the new apartment above Dat’s smithy with Mamma—folks would be whispering about poor Rhoda Lantz becoming a maidel.

  She finished writing on the whiteboard and then glanced at the window covered by that blue tarp . . . a mystery she knew better than to ask about anymore this morning. “We should probably have Micah or one of his brothers board that up, in case we get more rain,” she remarked.

  “Jah. He’ll be measurin’ for new window glass after his breakfast, no doubt,” Rachel replied.

  That was Micah: dependable and efficient when it came to anything about carpentry or repair. Predictable to a fault.

  That’s what it was—everything had become so predictable! Not that finding the precise word behind her bleak mood made her feel any better. Rhoda gazed out at the autumn mist, which filled in the low spots across the pastures and floated above the river in the distance . . .

  And then she stood
at attention. The tallest, blackest Percheron she’d ever seen was coming down the county road, hauling an enclosed red trailer behind him. Most folks in Willow Ridge farmed with Belgians, so this horse looked mighty different from any she’d seen around these parts.

  No, this animal looks like somethin’ out of a fairy tale—bigger than life! And who’s that drivin’ him?

  Rhoda smoothed her kapp, not taking her eyes off the horse, the trailer, or the driver as they came closer to the café. She couldn’t yet read the lettering on the side of the tall, enclosed rig—not that she cared about the business it advertised. That fellow in the seat, holding those reins and sitting tall as if he were on a throne, now he got her attention! Who was this man with the light brown hair blowing back in the breeze beneath a broad-brimmed hat that announced him as Plain? His suspenders shifted with the movement of his muscular arms, and as he drove closer Rhoda gazed out the window for as long as she dared.

  He was stopping here! Right out front!

  “Rachel, get a look at this fella,” she murmured as she backed away. No sense in being caught like a little kid with her nose pressed to the window. “He can’t be from around Morning Star or New Haven, not that I know of.”

  Her twin raised an eyebrow. “Let me finish with these vases.”

  Rhoda had no inclination to help her so Rachel would finish faster. Instead, she went to the buffet table as though to check the plates and baskets that awaited the breakfast Mamma and Naomi were cooking. From there, she could peer out through a different window without being seen.

  The driver hopped down from his seat and went behind the enclosed trailer to open its back doors. HOOLEY’S HORSESHOE SERVICE the yellow lettering on its sides proclaimed. And the rig was painted bright red, like a circus wagon! Now didn’t that beat all? Did this fellow realize Willow Ridge had been without a smith since her dat had died? And of all things, he was carefully sliding a large pane of glass from the back of his wagon. Meanwhile, Micah had already loaded that cut-up tree limb into a farm trailer and taken off.

  Rhoda pushed through the door like the place had caught fire. “Here—let me help ya with that!”

  The man turned with a smile, almost as if he’d been expecting her. Then he paused for the slightest moment. “That’s right kind of ya. It would be a shame, for sure and for certain, if this big piece of glass slipped before I got it into your window frame.”

  And how did he know their window had been broken? This early, hardly anyone had driven past the bakery yet, and locals were most likely tending to any damage at their own places before stopping for coffee or breakfast. Even if Mamma had called for somebody besides Micah—which she wouldn’t think of doing—why would a total stranger in the farrier business be pulling in as though he knew they needed a new window?

  One of those little mysteries Naomi was talkin’ about . . .

  Rhoda steadied the heavy, awkward pane of glass while the mystery man guided it toward the wall of the café. He was tall and lanky, but strong . . . had a summer-bronzed face and an easy way of moving . . . a smile that made her heartbeat pound in her ears when he focused on her with sparkling golden-brown eyes. “Ya must be one of Miriam’s girls. Ya look a lot like her—and that’s a fine thing, too.”

  Rhoda’s face went hot. She caught herself blinking too much. “Jah, I’m Rhoda!” she stammered. “We’re settin’ up for breakfast, so we’d be pleased to feed ya—free!—for takin’ care of this window so quick!”

  “That’s mighty generous, Rhoda.” He rummaged for tools in a big metal box. “Gut as that bacon and sausage smell from out here, I’d be crazy not to take you up on your offer, ain’t so?”

  “How’d ya know our window was broken?” Rhoda blurted. “And—and how’d ya know my mamm’s name?”

  Oh, that wasn’t a gut way to impress this fella, she chided herself. You’re soundin’ as silly as a girl about twelve years old.

  As he deftly popped the tacks out of the blue tarp with his claw hammer, he smiled as though he knew things he wasn’t telling. “Just happened by the right place at the right time, I suppose. I’m only doin’ what any fella would, after seein’ how a tree limb had crashed through the café’s window.”

  “So that’s your tarp, too? Denki for helpin’ us, by the way.”

  The fellow looked at her with another one of those friendly yet . . . secret smiles. If he were female, she’d think of it as a kitty-cat grin like Rachel was so good at hiding behind. But this was no girl she was standing beside.

  “Your mamm told me where to find it. Stand aside now—and ya might want to tell anybody inside I’m about to break out the rest of this jagged glass.”

  Rhoda stepped inside as he’d told her to and headed straight for the kitchen. “Well, Mamma, your little secret’s come back!” she announced, as much to Naomi and Rachel as to her mother. “And he called ya by name! He’s out front now, fixin’ that window! Takin’ down the tarp ya told him to fetch from Dat’s shop!”

  She planted her hands on her hips, noting the way Mamma’s blush spread up her neck and all over her face—as well it should! “And just what were ya doin’ here alone with this fella, in the wee hours, while we were still sleepin’, Mamma?”

  Chapter 4

  Miriam’s heartbeat took off like a shot. Ben was back! And while she wanted to rush out front to see what he was doing and how he was feeling now, her daughter’s unspoken accusations rang in the kitchen. And it wasn’t as if Naomi or Rachel were going to stop staring at her until she answered.

  Her lips twitched with a grin even though it was clear Rhoda wanted to whip up a scandalous situation. “Ben Hooley happened along in the thick of that storm—”

  “Oh, it’s Ben, is it?” Rhoda interrupted. “He wasn’t sharin’ his name with me.”

  “—and after his horse spooked and kicked him in the chest—”

  “Probably so, considerin’ how it wasn’t fit weather for neither man nor beast!”

  “—he was kind enough to put up that tarp from your dat’s shop, to keep more rain and broken glass from blowin’ in.” Miriam cleared her throat, determined not to let Rhoda’s tone upset her. “And this was after he hefted that tree limb out of the café. It was better than gettin’ Micah out of bed at that hour, ain’t so? And certainly better than tryin’ to do such things myself—not that I could reach the top of that window. Now,” Miriam said, mimicking Rhoda’s assertive stance, “what else do ya want to know?”

  Rhoda’s face curdled, an expression Miriam recalled from when this daughter had been challenged as a child and didn’t much like it. “What I want to know,” she echoed in a rising voice, “is why you’re gettin’ so sticky-sweet on a fella who’s young enough to be your”—she threw up her arms in exasperation—“well, he’s my age, Mamma! Ya don’t know a thing about him, but he’s already got ya blushin’ like a bride!”

  Rhoda had said a mouthful there, hadn’t she? Miriam felt a little stunned at how she must be wearing her heart on her sleeve, if Rhoda had picked up on so much from just talking with Ben for a few minutes. But there was a limit to how many questions a mother had to answer . . . and to how much sass she could take.

  “Don’t be so sure about that age difference, missy,” Miriam replied in a tight voice. “Right now you’re actin’ about twelve. Readin’ wayyyy too much into a gut-hearted fella helpin’ us out—after he got himself kicked, no less.”

  To see how this response was going over, Miriam glanced at Rachel and Naomi. Their eyes were wide, but they were staying out of it—and rightly so! Some of the regulars—like Naomi’s boys, Seth and Aaron, and her sister Leah’s sons, Nate and Bram—were coming in to eat, and they were bringing Ben Hooley with them, already chatting him up the way men did. So she relaxed. No sense in letting anyone else see the two of them going nose to nose.

  “It’s time to load up the buffet table,” Miriam said, nodding toward the fellows coming inside. “We’ll take up this conversation later.”

  Rh
oda’s impatient sigh told her they would be having more of this talk, and that she’d better have her answers ready. Her girls knew to set aside the personal stuff when they waited tables, because the men settling into those chairs out front had no time to waste before they went to their day’s work. Naomi was filling a metal steam table pan with crispy bacon, so Miriam grabbed a big basket and filled it with fresh, warm pumpkin-blueberry muffins. There was nothing better than getting into the café’s routine to smooth over ruffled feathers.

  “How are ya this mornin’, boys?” Miriam asked her nephews, Nate and Bram Kanagy. “Will your mamm have a wagonload of veggies for us later?”

  “Jah—yams and acorn squash,” Bram replied. “She’s been diggin’ lots of potatoes, too.”

  “And pickin’ apples!” his younger brother, Nate, crowed as he removed his hat. “Between your apple trees and ours, the orchard’s puttin’ out the most fruit we’ve seen in a long while.”

  “And they’re nice and firm, too,” Miriam said as she picked up a carafe of coffee. “I made apple crisp for the lunch buffet, and we’ll no doubt have some apple walnut coffee cake for tomorrow mornin’.”

  “No pies?” Micah had settled at his usual table with his two brothers, and had invited Ben Hooley to sit with them.

  “When have ya ever come here and not had pie?” Miriam teased. Then she smiled at Ben, who looked right at home amongst these younger locals. “These boys belong to my cookin’ partner, Naomi. Their mamm’s here workin’ early every mornin’, so we feed Seth and Micah and Aaron before they open their cabinet shop.”

  “And ya still turn a profit?” Ben’s eyes glimmered . . . an interesting shade of golden-brown they were, now that it was daylight. “Looks to me like this bunch could clean ya out before anybody else had a chance to eat and pay ya for it!”

  “We do our best!” young Aaron said with a laugh. “I’m gonna be the first to load up on that casserole. It’s the kind with bacon and sausage and cheese stacked up and baked in eggs, ain’t so?”