Ten
Miriam gazed at the soufflé—a beautiful golden brown puff in an individual porcelain dish just for her. It smelled divine, warm and cheesy and tempting, almost too perfect to mar by sticking a fork into it. But she did so, carefully, wondering if it would go poof! and collapse. But it didn’t. She slipped a bite between her lips and let it melt on her tongue.
“Oh,” she gasped, surprised. “It tastes . . . it tastes like a cloud. A lovely light cheese-flavored cloud.”
Their server hurried over. “Miss? How is it?”
“It’s the most wonderful thing I’ve ever tasted,” she told him. “So delicate. It probably sounds silly, but the first thing I thought was it tasted like a cloud.”
He beamed at her. “The chef will be so pleased to hear that you like it.”
Miriam smiled at him. “It was worth waiting for. I’ll remember eating this forever.” She ate another bite and sighed as she looked at Mark. “I’m so glad you told me to order what I wanted. Oh, I wasn’t thinking. Would you like to try a bite?” Then she blushed. “What am I saying? You’ve probably eaten it a dozen times.”
He grinned. “Not a dozen, but I have enjoyed it a few times. Not here of course. Back home.”
She hesitated. It seemed too . . . intimate . . . to offer him a bite from the fork she was using. So she used a spoon to remove a taste and handed it to him.
“Delicious,” he agreed. “But I’m more in the mood for this steak.”
“Gut,” she said. “I’d find it hard to share more of this.”
“I bet you could make a soufflé.”
“I’m not that gut a cook.”
“I’ll look up a recipe for you on my laptop later.”
“The first time I baked a cake, I peeked in the oven too often. And then, just as I was looking one last time, one of my bruders startled me running into the kitchen and I slammed the oven door. The cake collapsed.” She grinned. “It looked like a pancake.”
“My mother tried making a soufflé once and it didn’t turn out too badly.”
She laughed. “Well, that’s a sterling recommendation.”
“If you tell her I said that, I’ll deny it. She’s an amazing cook. We eat everything she cooks with relish.”
“She cooks with relish? The stuff you put on hot dogs?”
He laughed. “You know what I mean.”
“I’m just being silly.” She glanced around the restaurant. It was the most elegant place she’d ever visited. Linen tablecloths, fine china, heavy silver cutlery. Other diners dressed in their best. She’d felt a little self-conscious when they first walked in, but the maître d’ had made her feel welcome. The Englisch and Amish mixed more in Lancaster County than in other Amish communities, but she suspected few Amish patronized this fancy of a restaurant. And part of that welcome undoubtedly came from his subtle appraisal of Mark. She was Plain, but even though she didn’t know much about store-bought clothes—particularly men’s—she recognized his clothes were expensive. But it was more than that. He wore an air of confidence she had never seen in the men she knew, or even in the Englisch men she saw in the community.
“I wasn’t sure I could finish it,” she said as she sat back in her chair. “But it tasted lighter than air.” She sighed. “This has been wunderbaar.”
A server whisked away their empty plates.
He grinned. “I think it’s about to get better.”
“What?”
The server appeared at the table with a tray of the evening’s dessert selections. “But the chef has prepared chocolate soufflés for your enjoyment, if you wish,” he said, pointing to two dishes on the tray. “I told the chef how much you enjoyed the cheese soufflé, miss.”
“Oh my,” she breathed as the scent of chocolate wafted up from it. “I would love to try one.”
He set it before her with a flourish. “And for you, sir?”
“Looks too good to resist.”
Miriam sighed as the scent of warm chocolate wafted up from the dish. She sampled it. “A chocolate cloud. Oh, I am so glad you brought me here. I’ll remember this forever.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”
She nodded, then sobered. “I’m just sorry that you’re going through all the trouble with your work.”
“I appreciate your listening.”
“Mark! Friends don’t thank friends for listening.”
He stared down at his dessert. “Well, I haven’t heard from many of my friends since the firm told me to take some time off.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Her heart went out to him. “What kind of friends don’t stand by you?”
“It’s what you get when you spend most of your time at the office.” He shook his head and smiled. “Come on, no more talk of it. Things will work out.”
He talked about his work in the fields with his grandfather and the other men. She listened as he told a funny story about them surprising a snake and how one of the men had, in his words, “screamed like a girl.”
She’d have objected—she was a girl and never screamed when she unexpectedly encountered a snake— but she sensed that he was deliberately trying to change the mood he’d fallen into.
“It’s been fun to be back in the fields with the men. I feel like they accept me,” he said quietly.
“They do. They’ve known you for years.” She sipped her iced tea. “Everyone asks John about you, you know. How you’re doing.”
Mark looked surprised. “No, I didn’t know.” He traced a pattern on the linen tablecloth with his finger. “I do know everyone has helped my grandfather so much. I guess I’ll have some time to return the help while I’m here.”
“So see, some gut will come of this.”
He lifted his gaze and stared at her for so long, she shifted uncomfortably. “Do I have chocolate on my face?”
“No.”
But he didn’t stop looking at her.
“Summer is hard with the harvest and working in the heat to get it done. But it’s a gut time for coming together, for helping each other and for appreciating God’s bounty.”
Summer had been her favorite season for years ever since Mark had started spending summers with John.
Being with him this evening had been the stuff of her teenaged maedel’s fantasies. She told herself she was a young woman now and not to make too much of it. He’d be called back to his job—he was too good at it for them to treat him this way.
John had often told her about his grosssohn’s work. He did it more with a sense of puzzlement than pride. He didn’t quite understand why Mark had chosen the work. After all, the Amish didn’t believe in the Englisch habit of suing and such. He loved Mark but hochmut—pride—was such a basic tenet of the Amish faith. And since he loved the land so much, he wanted Mark to love it and assume its care.
Miriam watched their server discreetly place a leather folder on the table near Mark’s plate. Mark opened it, gave the bill a quick glance, tucked his credit card in it, and returned his attention to her. He seemed in no hurry to leave.
She wasn’t in any hurry either.
Mark had always thought Miriam was a pretty girl. Pretty in a quiet way.
Tonight she looked more than pretty. The candlelight flickering on the table cast a glow on her creamy skin and made her blue eyes sparkle.
But it wasn’t just the candlelight that put that sparkle in her eyes. He’d never seen anyone eat with such pleasure, appreciate it so much. She acted like someone who’d been given a gift with something rare and exotic. Which he supposed a soufflé must seem to her.
It was a gift to see her enjoy something so much that cost him so little.
“I wish I could take some of this home for Mamm to try.”
“Excuse me, miss, but it won’t transport well,” the server said with a touch of regret in his tone. “Perhaps I might suggest something else you could take home for her.”
“We’ll bring her here sometime,” Mark said.
&
nbsp; “Oh, that would be so wunderbaar!” Then her face fell. She glanced around. “But it’s so expensive.”
“It’s the least I can do to show your family appreciation for taking such good care of my grossdaadi.”
She continued to eat. He found himself watching her as they sipped coffee. She had such a serene way about her. No complaining about bad service from her.
It wasn’t fair to compare her to Tiffany. They came from two different worlds. But when he talked with Miriam, he didn’t get the sense that her mind was racing ahead to what she wanted to say next. She didn’t want to endlessly talk about the next social event and what she’d wear to it. And when he spoke of how it felt to be treated the way he had been by the firm, she’d truly cared.
Tiffany wasn’t even returning his phone calls these days.
He sighed.
“Tired?” she asked.
“No, sorry. Just thinking of something.” He glanced around and saw that most of the other diners had left. “But it’s getting late. I guess we should go.”
They walked outside. The temperature had cooled enough to put the windows down so they could enjoy the breeze as they drove home along dark country roads. The scent of honeysuckle drifted into the car.
“Nice night,” he said as he glanced at her. “You cool enough? We can put the windows up and turn on the air conditioning, if you want.”
“Nee, this is perfect. Remember the drives we used to take in the buggy? Before you got a driver’s license and a car? Those were fun.” She sat up straighter in her seat. “Oh, look at all the fireflies out in the field.”
He slowed and glanced at the light show. “We don’t see many of those in the city. Or stars. Too many city lights.” He chuckled as a different scent wafted in. “Of course, we don’t get some of the . . . pungent country smells, either.”
She laughed. “True. But you get used to it.”
He had to admit she was right. It hadn’t taken long for him to get accustomed to the scents of the country. He just wished he could say he was getting used to the heat. Maybe he’d gotten soft as he’d gotten older.
What was he saying? Age had nothing to do with it. It had to be that he’d gotten used to moving from one air-conditioned space to another in his world.
Now the breeze brought with it the scent of lavender that clung to Miriam’s clothing. He knew she didn’t wear perfume. He guessed that she must tuck sprigs of the flower in her drawers. It was a charming, old-fashioned habit he remembered she and her mother favored.
He’d take it over the expensive, cloying perfumes worn by so many of the Englisch women he knew.
Again, Tiffany came to mind.
Mark shook his head to clear that thought. It was becoming obvious that there was a problem. He’d have to drive into the city and get her to talk to him soon. Very soon.
“Are you allrecht?”
“Sure. Why?”
“You sighed.”
Had he? “Just thinking it’s a pretty night. And that was a delicious dinner. Thanks for going with me.”
“Thank you for asking me. I won’t ever forget those soufflés.”
“It’s nice to have something different.” He pulled into the driveway of her house.
“Like this break from work is for you?”
He turned off the ignition. “You’re right. This is different for me. At least lately. I used to take breaks here in the summer when school was out. I haven’t done it much since college.”
His cell phone rang. He checked the display. Lani.
“Don’t you need to take the call?”
“My assistant. I’ll call her later.” He rubbed the steering wheel with a finger. “She’s the only one who calls me these days.”
“Then you should take the call.”
He shook his head. “Not now. It’ll wait.” If there was one thing he’d learned from this mess it was that work—something that had always come first—well, it just couldn’t any more. Because when he didn’t have it, what did he have?
Miriam was a true friend. She’d worried about him, even nagged him until he talked to her. She asked hard questions and made him look deeply at his situation. It hadn’t been comfortable sometimes, but he figured that was what made a good friend.
Light spilled out of a front window as someone twitched a curtain aside and looked out. Miriam giggled. “No matter how old you get, parents are still parents.”
Mark chuckled. It had been years since he’d pulled up before a girl’s house and a front porch light had gone on or a window curtain had been pushed aside so a parent could look out and signal that she should come inside.
Did Miriam’s parents think they were out here kissing? He hoped not. He knew she had to marry someone of her faith or be shunned. And he wouldn’t tarnish her reputation. Not for anything.
“I guess you should go in.”
“Danki again. And Mark? Everything will work out. We don’t know what God’s plan is for us. We just need to believe He knows what’s best.” She started to get out of the car but turned back. “Why don’t you come to church this week?”
“I’ll think about it.”
“You used to enjoy church.”
He nodded.
She got out and went into her house. Mark sat there for a moment before starting the car and backing out of the drive. He took the long way home, finding the drive through the dark country roads soothing.
Finally he headed home. It was a little strange, but he did feel at home here more than where he lived all his life. His father hadn’t wanted to stay, but he’d never prevented Mark from spending summers here. Mark wondered how much of a place was in his genes. The farm had been in his family for so many generations. He mused on that. Nature or nurture?
He parked in the drive, locked the car—probably an unnecessary habit here—and went inside. As he climbed the stairs to his bedroom, he remembered how he’d come home late one summer night and avoided the creaky top step. His grandfather had known he’d been out late anyway and had given him a stern talk the next morning. He stepped on it just for old times’ sake and grinned when his grandfather called out a greeting.
“Still up?” he asked, pausing at his grandfather’s doorway. Then he frowned. “Oh, shoot, I forgot your ice cream.”
His grandfather set his book aside. “It’s not late. And don’t worry about the ice cream.”
“Miriam and I went for a drive and dinner. We talked a lot.”
“The two of you always enjoyed talking. Once, I thought . . .” he trailed off and shrugged. “But I guess it wasn’t to be. You wanted to fight for man’s justice.”
“Yeah. Look where it got me.”
He tilted his head to one side. “Where did it get you?”
Mark sighed. “I guess I don’t know.”
“This will always be your home, Mark. Whether you want to stay for gut or not.”
Emotion swamped him. “Thank you.”
“Thanks aren’t necessary. You’re my grosssohn and I love you dearly. Have a gut nacht.”
“I love you too. Sleep well.”
And when he went to bed in the little room where he’d slept so many nights for so many summers, he slept dreamlessly.
Eleven
Miriam drifted up the stairs to her room wearing a smile.
What a wonderful evening out she’d had with Mark.
Well, calling it an “evening out” wasn’t exactly accurate. It was a drive and dinner with a friend who was going through some upsetting times. As much as she wanted it to be her fantasy date with the man she’d had a crush on since she was a teen, she had to be stern with herself and not fantasize.
She looked for the little bud vase she’d bought at the dollar store, filled it with water, and set it on her nightstand. The vase schur wasn’t crystal, and she usually filled it with flowers from the garden or wildflowers that grew near her schul. Tonight it held an expensive, beautiful rose.
“Be sure to give the chef our
compliments,” Mark had told the server. “The lady loved the soufflés.”
A few minutes later, the chef himself had appeared at the table, looking so impressive in his white jacket and tall hat. He’d beamed when she told him how she’d enjoyed the soufflé, and told her she should try making one sometime.
“It’s really not that difficult,” he assured her. “It took me a couple of tries at the culinary school.”
She was used to cooking simple things, but since Mark had said he’d find her a recipe, she promised she’d try making one. Now she looked at the rose she’d brought home and put it in the simple vase. Plain and fancy. Just like her in that restaurant.
She undressed and pulled on a summer nightgown. After unpinning her kapp, then the tightly bound bun at the nape of her neck, she sat on her bed and brushed her hair. Then she braided it, tying a ribbon at the end. She folded her quilt at the end of the bed and slid between the sheets.
Reaching under her pillow, she pulled out her journal and wrote about the evening, about how it had felt to spend time with Mark and listen to his concern about what was going on in his life. She’d listened and tried to do her best to be his friend.
It had been such fun to be treated to such an elegant supper in such a special restaurant. She’d always remember the amazing soufflé, the service, the ambiance.
There, that was a word she didn’t get to use often. Ambiance. She retraced it with her pencil and sketched a picture of the rose. Later, she’d press the flower in the journal as a reminder.
A breeze drifted in through the open window, carrying the scent of honeysuckle. It was so quiet she could hear a big bullfrog call to his mate in the creek on the edge of the property.
She paused and wondered what Mark was doing right now. Was he in the bedroom he’d always used when he stayed at his grossdaadi’s and getting ready for bed?
Living in the country must be so different from his condo in the city. He’d shown her pictures of it on his cell phone once. Property was expensive in Lancaster County, but even more so in Philadelphia. He was so proud he’d been able to buy the condo. She’d been happy for him, but thought the place looked . . . cold. He’d used an interior decorator and also had the help of the woman who was now his fiancée. Miriam guessed that explained it. Nothing he’d told her about Tiffany had made her think the woman was warm. But she wouldn’t criticize the condo or his fiancée. It wouldn’t be right.
Seeds of Hope Page 9