Luke waved him off. “Going through the motions, if you ask me.”
“Well, can you imagine what a shock it would be for his girls—especially Loretta and Rosalyn—if they found out the extent of his wrongdoing at the same time everyone else did?” Ben shot back. “We’re hoping he’ll admit his mistakes to them first, so they’ll be a step ahead of the guilt and humiliation their dat’s confession will bring down on the family.”
Marcus’s eyes widened. What sort of things had Rosalyn’s father done, that Ben and Luke were speaking so harshly about him? Rosalyn impressed Marcus as a meek, mousy sort of daughter, of an age to remain a maidel forever if some fellow didn’t court her soon. It wasn’t that she was ugly or dumb. But she was so painfully shy she hadn’t once looked him in the eye the day he’d helped in Nora’s store.
“I hope Tom’s not making a big mistake, allowing Cornelius to go about his business as though he’s done nothing wrong,” Luke continued with a frown. “A lot of people could get burned if your deacon hasn’t actually reformed.”
“Tom and I have prayed extensively over this situation, and we’ve put it in God’s hands,” Ben insisted. “What more can we do?”
Luke seemed to take this as his cue that the conversation about Cornelius Riehl was finished, but for Marcus the seeds of curiosity had been planted. Maybe there’s someone in this town who’s played fast and loose even more than I have, he speculated as he chewed a mouthful of buttery acorn squash. And if he’s the district’s deacon, that makes the situation even more intriguing. Too bad I don’t have a clock that needs repairing.
For the remainder of the meal Marcus nodded and replied in the appropriate conversational places, but his mind was toying with ideas about Cornelius—how to meet the man, or find out more about what he’d done that would adversely affect so many people and heap shame and degradation on his daughters.
This can’t be easy for Rosalyn. She’s been raised to honor her father—to believe in him—even though the rumors are starting to circle like vultures . . .
* * *
Rosalyn quickly scraped the dinner dishes while Loretta hurried over to the counter to cut the desserts. Lord, is it too much to ask that Dat keep his bitterness and critical remarks to himself so we can enjoy our Thanksgiving dinner? she fretted. Must we forever rush around trying to please him, to keep him from blurting out hurtful words?
“Your pumpkin pies look yummy, Edith,” Loretta said cheerfully. “And they smell nice and spicy with cinnamon and cloves.”
Their sister Edith looked up from wiping the trays of the high chairs where her twins, Leroy and Louisa, were starting to fuss. “I hope I remembered to include all the right ingredients,” she said with a laugh. “My little kitchen helpers were toddling around, opening cabinet doors while I was baking.”
“They’re growing so fast,” Rosalyn remarked as she carried the stack of plates to the counter beside the sink. “Hard to believe they’re already thirteen months old and—”
“Old enough to sit still and be quiet,” Dat groused as he glared at the twins. “But frankly, Edith, you could’ve made something other than pumpkin pies. You know how I despise them.”
Edith, bless her, had a response ready for their father’s annual complaint. “See the slab pie Loretta’s cutting now? I made it with lots of cherry and apricot filling, just for you, Dat.”
“Not that we’ll let you eat it all by yourself,” Edith’s husband, Asa, teased. He lifted little Leroy from his high chair before holding him high in the air to make him giggle. “Our boy here is developing quite a taste for pie, so maybe he could sit on your lap and share your piece, Cornelius.”
“That child’s not touching my pie,” Dat retorted.
“I intend to eat my share of it, too, Cornelius,” Asa’s twin brother, Drew, chimed in as he rose to carry the desserts to the table. “We wouldn’t want you to get sick—or fat—from gorging on all that sweet, fruity goodness by yourself.”
“It’s my pie, and my business how much of it I care to eat,” Dat snapped.
The kitchen rang with her father’s caustic remark as everyone gazed uneasily at the red-faced man who sat at the end of the table. Rosalyn wasn’t surprised to hear little Louisa’s whimper, for Dat’s tone had been angry enough to upset her, much less Edith’s tiny child. Louisa’s face puckered and turned as pink as her dress, and her wispy dark hair began to quiver.
“Honestly, Dat, do you have to make everyone around you miserable?” Edith asked as she began swaying and holding her little girl close. “Aren’t you seeing Bishop Tom about—”
“I’m doing everything he told me to do,” Dat fired back. “Nobody seems to realize how your mother’s death shattered me—and none of you care how miserable I am.”
With that, their father scooted back from the table, fetched a dinner plate from the cabinet, and strode over to where Loretta had been cutting the desserts. He snatched the metal spatula from her hand and lifted four large squares of the cherry-apricot slab pie from the cookie sheet, piling them on his plate. Muttering under his breath about how disrespectful his family was—and how the girls had completely forgotten about their mother—he headed for the basement. The wham of the door behind him made both of the babies jump and gasp in surprise.
“That was just wrong, manipulating you girls with his hurtful words,” Asa murmured. “I’m sorry I stirred up such a hornet’s nest over pie.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Asa,” Edith replied. “Truth be told, Dat seems to find any little excuse to be rid of us all. And who can tell what will set him off? We girls have known him all our lives and we still haven’t figured him out.”
“Surely he’s not going to work in his shop on a holiday,” Loretta said.
“It’s best to just leave him be—and let him stew in his own juice,” Drew suggested as he began placing the cut pies in the center of the table. “If he’s happier when he’s not in our company, well, at least we don’t have to put up with his rude remarks.”
With a sigh, Rosalyn returned to the table. Surely there was a way to clear the air of Dat’s negativity, to raise their spirits in a manner that was appropriate for the Thanksgiving holiday. She helped herself to a slice of pumpkin pie and spooned a dollop of whipped cream onto it, glad that they’d made it from scratch rather than buying a tub of topping from the store.
“When all’s said and done,” she began quietly, “we’re still a family, and I for one am very thankful to have the two best sisters on earth. I’m also grateful that you fellows have joined us—”
“And we’re thankful to have Leroy and Louisa to make us smile,” Loretta put in as she grinned at them in their high chairs.
“So true!” Edith said, her face alight. “As the years go by, we’ll have each other, no matter what.”
“Jah, you girls have it right,” Drew said as he took a square of the slab pie. “It’s all about family, today and every day.”
“And we’re thankful you girls love us enough to put up with us,” Asa added. He closed his eyes over his first mouthful of the cherry-apricot pie. “Oh my, but this is tasty. I’m thinking a few more pieces of this slab pie have my name on them.”
“It’s a first-come, first-served situation,” Drew teased. “Maybe there’ll be some of it left for Cornelius when you folks go home this evening, and maybe there won’t.”
As everyone chuckled, Rosalyn’s thoughts wandered ahead to Saturday, when she’d be working at Nora’s store again. She had agreed with Nora’s idea to bring the materials for more Christmas wreaths so she could work on them at a table where customers could watch her—which sounded scary yet exhilarating.
It’s such a blessing to spend time with Nora, and to be where folks appreciate the time and effort I put into my wreaths, Rosalyn thought. As her sisters savored their mouthfuls of pie, their sweet smiles gave her another idea.
“What would you girls think about joining me at the shop on Saturday?” she asked. “Nora would be tick
led to have us making our baskets, rugs, and wreaths when the store’s sure to be busy with holiday shoppers. Maybe she wouldn’t pay you, but—”
“But it would get me out of the house for part of the day,” Loretta pointed out with a glance at the basement door.
“And it would be a chance to work on a couple of basket orders I need to complete,” Edith put in. She deftly moved Louisa’s small plate before the girl smashed her hand down onto her pumpkin pie. “I could put these monkeys in their playpen in Nora’s back room—”
“And we could all take turns peeking in on them,” Loretta offered brightly. “Nora wouldn’t mind having them there—and if they get fussy, we’ll take them outside to play.”
“Drew and I have a load of furniture to deliver to Warrensville on Saturday,” Asa said, “so why don’t we go our way and you girls can do your crafty thing together, and we’ll see you for supper? Let’s go to the Grill N Skillet, since you’ll all be working that day.”
“You’re on!” Edith replied happily. “It’ll be sisters day at Nora’s store, and we won’t have to cook—except for whipping up a dish or two to take for the common meal after church on Sunday.”
“The customers will love watching us,” Loretta said. “And if Nora needs extra help at the checkout, we’ll be there for her. What a great idea, Rosalyn! Denki for thinking of it.”
Rosalyn’s heart swelled as she helped herself to another slice of the rich, spicy pumpkin pie. She and Loretta could leave a pot of soup simmering on the stove for Dat’s noon meal, along with some sandwiches in the refrigerator, and he could spend all the time he wanted in his shop without his daughters around to irritate him. Maybe he’d go to the Grill N Skillet for supper, and maybe he wouldn’t. She decided not to worry about what he would eat that evening if he chose not to join them.
Sounds like a wonderful day for all of us.
Chapter Eight
Marcus entered Nora’s store late Saturday morning and paused to read the room. Although the shop wasn’t as busy as it had been during the open house, several customers were browsing—and obviously enjoying the ambience of the soft Christmas music, the scent of pine and peppermint candles burning on various display tables, and the carefully crafted items Nora offered on her shelves. Marcus was impressed with the variety of merchandise in Simple Gifts, and he headed over to the far front corner where tooled leather saddles and Ben’s ornamental metal pieces provided a more masculine place to spend some time . . . spying.
From behind a tall ornamental metal garden gate decorated with welded sunflowers and hummingbirds, Marcus gazed up toward the loft and around the main level to locate Rosalyn. A burst of laughter caught him by surprise—and told him why she hadn’t immediately approached him. All three of the Riehl sisters were seated at tables, chatting happily with customers who watched them as they worked on their crafts. McKenzie had told him that the two younger sisters were married, so their presence here in a store that catered to an English clientele surprised Marcus.
Isn’t there an unwritten church law about married women—especially those with children—working outside the home? Don’t their husbands lay down the law and expect them to serve a noon meal?
The sister with a pixie face and sparkling brown eyes picked up a tiny girl in a lavender dress and bounced her against her hip, chatting with the English ladies who’d been watching her make a basket. Another sister was showing a customer how she created a rug from strips of deep green and burgundy fabric, with the plastic contraption she held in her hand. Rosalyn sat on a stool behind a table strewn with the components for the wreaths she was making, appearing a bit more subdued than her sisters. She was nodding and answering questions, however, as her nimble fingers attached dark, glossy Brazil nuts to a circular wreath already covered with English walnuts and pecans. Redheaded Nora looked on with the air of a proud mother hen whose chicks amazed and amused her, before joining two ladies at the cash register.
Although Marcus enjoyed the fact that he’d escaped the notice of the four women who were minding the store, he soon eased away from the handsome black leather saddle he’d been standing beside. He admired his cousin Ben’s welding skill as he gave the garden gate one last look, and then meandered toward an entire bedroom set handsomely crafted from walnut and set off with a puffy Christmas quilt and a rug that Rosalyn’s sister had probably made. When the hairs at the nape of his neck tingled, Marcus discovered that Rosalyn was watching him—until he met her gaze and she quickly focused on her wreath again.
She wants nothing to do with you, Hooley. She’s probably a goody-goody who’s already joined the Old Order, and she’s scared of you—and that’s just as well. Rosalyn’s not your type at all.
Marcus approached her table anyway. Surely with her sisters nearby, Rosalyn wouldn’t feel as threatened by his presence. Was he really so intimidating?
“You ladies seem to be having a great time,” he remarked. He flashed a smile at all three of them and at the customers gathered around.
“Jah, we’re happiest whenever we’re together.” Rosalyn gestured toward each of her sisters in turn. “Marcus Hooley, this is Loretta Detweiler, who makes toothbrush braided rugs, and Edith Detweiler, who makes baskets.”
“And you all make such amazing items, too,” remarked one of the ladies who was watching them. “I’ve bought a couple of Loretta’s rugs over the past month or so, and I’m thinking that the one she’s making now belongs in my entryway when I put up my Christmas decorations.”
Loretta’s cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. “This rug could be yours,” she teased, as though she’d enjoyed working with this customer before. “It doesn’t have a home yet.”
“Fabulous!” the lady said as she dug out her wallet. “And I’d like this unusual wreath with the nuts to go with it, please.”
Rosalyn appeared pleasantly flustered. “This one’s already spoken for, but I—I’ll take your name and number,” she said, looking around for paper and a pen. “Do you have a certain size you want, or a shape? The last nut wreath I made was a star—not quite as big as this one.”
Marcus ambled between the nearby display shelves to give Rosalyn a chance to get the information she needed. He’d heard from Luke that Loretta and her new husband had chosen to live in the Riehl home after their recent wedding, so he was even more intrigued about their dat, Cornelius the church deacon—about the secrecy that shrouded his reputation, and about the fact that he would allow his daughters to work in Nora’s store. While Rosalyn chatted with her customer, Marcus looked at the various materials on her worktable, and he got an idea.
When the customer headed toward Nora at the cash register, Marcus made his way behind the girls’ tables. He picked up one of the cornhusks Rosalyn had placed near some fresh greenery that would probably be worked into another wreath. He spotted some green floral wire, too—and he couldn’t miss the way Rosalyn self-consciously scooted a few inches away from him.
“Um, can I help you?” she asked in a low voice.
“Oh, I’m beyond help, Roz,” Marcus teased. He smiled at her as he deftly manipulated the cornhusk, using the slender wire to hold the head of his creation in place. “I’m really curious about how you ladies can work in Nora’s store, what with your dat being the district’s deacon—and two of you being married,” he remarked. “Most Old Order gals don’t have that option.”
Loretta looked up from the rug she was making. “If Nora were still English rather than Mennonite, we wouldn’t be here,” she stated. “But I started this ball rolling before I got married, by defying Dat and working here against his orders that I stay home. I’m glad Rosalyn’s helping here, too. Our father gets . . . testy.”
“I suspect Bishop Tom realizes how unpleasant things can be at home, so he allows Rosalyn and Loretta a little time away,” Edith put in softly. “Most bishops would flat-out forbid them to work here, as you suggested, Marcus.”
“How’s it going with Wyatt’s horses?” Loretta asked, turni
ng the interrogation around.
Marcus chuckled, recognizing her deliberate change of topic. “McKenzie gave me some time off for good behavior today, because I’ve already retrained two of his retired racing Thoroughbreds so they’re reliable buggy horses. The other three will be ready by the end of next week,” he added as he continued coaxing the stiff leaves of the cornhusk into place.
Edith’s expressive eyebrows rose. “You sound mighty sure about that,” she teased.
“I am,” he shot back without missing a beat. “Horses respond well to my instruction. I work them hard, I work them fast—and I’m very persuasive.”
Marcus hadn’t missed the way Rosalyn was stealing glances at his hands even as she focused on attaching the final few almonds to the wreath she was making. He plucked the two sides of the cornhusk figure upward into wings. A stray sprig of silk holly on the table inspired him to tuck it into the belt he’d formed with the wire. When he was satisfied with his creation, he handed it to her. “For you,” he said.
Rosalyn’s eyes widened with surprise. “An angel!” she whispered, turning the little doll this way and that. “How’d you do that?”
The amazement in her voice and her gaze touched him. “I used to make them for my nieces,” he replied with a shrug. “When you live on a farm, cornhusks are easy to come by.”
She was avidly studying the way the green floral wire formed a halo and also held the angel’s neck in place, as though she’d never seen anything so clever. When Rosalyn dared to meet his gaze, her brown eyes reflected doubt and uncertainty even as she took pleasure in the angel. “This is for me? I—well, denki, Marcus,” she stammered.
He blinked. Why did Rosalyn feel so undeserving? Had no one ever given her such a simple gift as a cornhusk figure? “Horses and women,” he quipped. “I can have them eating out of my hand at the drop of a hat.”
Rosalyn’s gasp—and Edith and Loretta’s dropped jaws—told Marcus it was time for him to leave. Was it his imagination, or had the entire store gotten quiet?
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