by Kate Lloyd
I planted myself next to her. “Yah, I did. A terrible tragedy.”
“I took Amos and Ruth a casserole yesterday.” She shook her head in a way that told me she was holding back tears. “There’s a bed set up in the living room. All the other furniture’s shoved against the walls. There’s hardly space to walk, but Ruth said that’s how she wants it.”
“Is he going to recover?”
“I don’t know. Amos looked to be asleep—dead, really, the way his jaw was unhinged—but Ruth said he could hear us and encouraged me to speak to him. I said, ‘Hello, Amos. It’s Anna Lapp. I’ve come for a visit.’ His lids cracked open, and he stared blankly.” She let out a lengthy sigh. “I wonder if he’ll ever wake up completely. Poor Ruth.”
Now was my chance to be honest. “Mamm, Jake stopped by last night.”
“I saw him, and I had a feeling he’d track you down. What did he want?”
“He asked me to visit his dat. Apparently, Amos’s brain has gone haywire.”
Mamm polished the table with her palm and nodded. “I’d better tell you right now if Jake didn’t. The only word Amos has muttered is your name. I can’t imagine why.”
“That makes two of us. Unless he still bears resentment toward me and blames me for Jake’s bad behavior.”
“You call arson mere bad behavior?”
I leaned closer, against her arm, and spoke in her ear. “He and his Englisch friends didn’t burn down that barn.”
“How do you know? Because he told you?”
I still wasn’t a hundred percent sure of anything. “I suppose they could have by mistake, but an upstanding man who was there that night told me otherwise. The barn’s owner has long ago forgiven the arsonist, if there was one. And his new barn is twice as nice.”
“You know, Eva, you’ve always been gullible. Even as a child.”
Not the supportive words I’d hoped to hear. “I suppose you’re right, Mamm. I do try to see the best in people.” Not a true statement when it came to Beatrice and my sister-in-law, Marta. I needed to improve my attitude.
An Englisch couple sat down at the next table, each carrying a mug of coffee.
“This café isn’t the best place for a private conversation.” I wanted to change the subject. “When I stop by for a visit, we’ll finish it.” I stood. “Want some freshly brewed kaffi?”
“Yah, that would be nice. Denki.”
I brought her coffee and a small pitcher of half-and-half. “I’ll scramble up some fresh eggs if you like. The owners have several fine hens.”
“Denki, but I already ate.”
“Do you want to see my cabin?”
“Maybe next time. I stopped by there on the way here, so I’ve seen the outside. A woman named Beatrice gave me directions to the café.”
“And an earful?” I heard annoyance in my voice.
“She was very pleasant. Do you have a problem with her?”
“Yes and no. The problem is most likely in my head. She’s been helpful in her own way.”
“Yah, she told me she was teaching you how to cook, something I should have done better.”
“I just never enjoyed cooking as much as gardening and helping Dat in the barn. But I learned enough from you to read recipes and work in here.”
“I must not have been much of a mother, or you wouldn’t have strayed from the flock.”
“That’s not true. You were a fantastic mother. And I’m still living Amish.”
Tension gathered at the corners of her eyes. “But not a church member.”
“Didn’t we talk about this before I left home? I thought you said this job was ideal.”
“Yah, I thought you’d be working in the nursery with plants. But you seem to be doing fine here in the café.” She stirred sugar and cream into her coffee until it was the color of milk chocolate.
“Mamm, are you okay?” I sat down again and appraised her haggard features.
“Just a little tired. Getting used to the changes at home. Nothing worth mentioning. Retirement is what your dat has wanted for years. And I have less housework, for sure.”
I recalled Mamm’s diligent cleaning and food preparation. Not to mention her canning and meticulous quilting. She took great satisfaction in those activities.
“How are you getting along with Marta?”
“Fine as can be expected.”
“I thought you and Dat were thrilled when she married Reuben.” I’d never seen Mamm so pleased, making me feel like a failure for still being single.
“We were.” Mamm added more sugar to her coffee. “She and I have different ways of doing things, is all, which is to be expected. I try not to give her too much advice, but, apparently, I do.”
“But aren’t you glad to have your grandchildren living under the same roof?”
“Of course. But Marta seems too strict.” She covered her mouth for a moment. “Ach, I shouldn’t have said anything. Your dat and I probably weren’t strict enough. We looked the other way and spared the rod too often.”
“And spoiled the child?” Meaning me.
“No use rehashing the past, Evie. You’re a fine young woman, and I’m proud of you.” She gulped a mouthful of coffee.
“Mamm, are you sure everything else is all right?”
“For the most part, yah.” She swiveled in her chair to face me, as if shutting out the rest of the world. “If you talked to Jake, then you probably know he’s working his dat’s fields until Amos gets better. If he ever does. Ach, Eva, I wonder if he will. Anyway, Jake is Englisch now. You’d best stay away from him.”
“But Jake asked me to visit his dat, and I’ve decided to go on Sunday.”
“Why on earth?”
Attempting to delay describing my guilty encounter, I took her half-empty mug to the carafe, refilled it, and then lowered myself next to her. “Like you and Jake both told me, Amos keeps asking for me.”
“Sounds like a trick.” Mamm stirred more sugar into her coffee, clanking the spoon against the mug. “Maybe you should have a deacon and a minister accompany you.”
“That might frighten Amos, don’t ya think?”
“Now, why would he be afraid? And how are you planning to get to their house—and ours too?”
“I have permission to use the nursery owner’s buggy.”
“It’s a long drive.”
“I was told the mare needs the exercise. I took her out yesterday, and it worked great. I enjoyed driving the buggy.”
“But the traffic.” She wrung her hands.
“I’ll be extra careful and stay off the busy roads.”
“I still say it’s a bad idea.” She shook her head. “No gut can come from it. None.”
EIGHTEEN
On my afternoon break I decided to stroll back to my cabin. A mirror hung by the café’s back door, but some would consider my checking my kapp a sign of vanity. Because it was.
I headed out the café’s door and almost walked into Stephen.
“Have you seen Heath?” he asked, falling in step next to me. “He’s missing again.”
“No, I haven’t seen him today.”
“Wayne called to report two more lambs were killed at Bill Hastings’s farm. Doesn’t look good. If they spot Heath, they’ll pick him up. Or worse.” He advanced toward the big house, his stride purposeful. We slowed to allow Englisch customers to pass us from the other direction, and then we continued.
“Early this morning Heath begged to go out,” he said. “When Beatrice called him minutes later and announced it was time for breakfast, he didn’t come.”
“Did you go looking for him?”
“I canvassed the nursery and then got in my pickup.” He jammed his hands in his jeans pockets. “I even drove past the sheep farm where we found him before and called out his name. No sign of the dog or that sheep farmer. I decided it was best not to pay the creep another visit.”
“Good idea, unless you have Wayne with you.” I imagined another altercation and
felt a shiver up my spine. “Perhaps Heath will come back on his own.”
“I hope so.”
“I know nothing about dogs, but maybe he needs to be tied up next time.”
“If there is a next time.”
Beatrice bustled after us from the café. “Please tell me you found Heath.”
“Not yet,” Stephen said.
“It’s all my fault.” A look of distress creased Beatrice’s face. “I feel terrible for letting him loose.”
“You had no way of knowing,” Stephen said. “He never used to run off.”
The black cat encircled her legs, but Beatrice paid the feline no heed. “I might lose my job. Then what will I do?”
Stephen moved toward the main house. “Glenn and Rose won’t blame you.”
“But, you see, I sold my home.” She patted her chest. “Where would I live if I lose this job?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Reaching the back porch, Stephen supported her elbow as she ascended the steps. “For all we know, Heath will show up at any moment.” His sentence came out more like a question than a statement.
Were the tales of dogs getting the taste of blood and turning feral true? I imagined Heath killing sheep—ripping out their throats. My body stiffened as my fear of dogs invaded me again, making me weak at the knees.
Stephen checked his wristwatch. “Eva, shouldn’t you get to work?”
“Oh, dear.” I spun on my heel and hastened back to the café, all the time thinking Beatrice wasn’t the only woman who might lose her job. The moment I saw her, I should have returned to work.
Over the course of fifteen minutes, the café had filled with customers. I was stunned to see lovely and radiant Olivia standing behind the counter filling orders.
“No worries,” she told me. “Everything’s under control.”
“Mostly tea and kaffi orders,” Sadie said. “But I’m glad Liv stopped by.”
Minutes later, all customers had seated themselves, leaving the three of us at the counter.
Sadie grabbed a damp rag and commenced cleaning the vacant tables, and then she refilled coffee mugs.
“Evie, I came by hoping you and I could share a word.” Olivia and I stood side by side, her arm against mine.
She lowered her voice to a whisper in my ear. “I’m leaving tomorrow night and wanted to say goodbye.”
My head whipped around to catch her expression. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
A smile fanned across her face.
“But you can’t leave,” I said.
“You want me to stay and end up like you? Losing the only man I’ll ever love?”
My brain scavenged for ways to change her mind. “But who will do the baking?”
She chortled. “Come to my house today after work. I’ll give you a lesson if you promise not to breathe a word about me and you-know-who.”
“I don’t even know who you-know-who is for sure.” Maybe Olivia would come to her senses in the next twenty-four hours.
“I have a great idea.” A grin widened her mouth. “My schweschder can do the baking. She helps me every day. Yah, we’ll ask Emma. She’s been begging our folks to let her work in the farmer’s market, but they won’t let her.”
“No one can bake as well as you do.” My arm slipped across her slim shoulders. “And I’d miss you too much.”
“Shush. Keep your voice down.” She turned toward me, her eyes sparkling as if she’d never enjoyed herself more. “In case Emma bags out on you, I’ll give you my recipes. Ya don’t need to be a brain surgeon to make whoopie pies. If that were true, I’d be in trouble.”
“But I—”
“Evie, I’ve heard Beatrice can cook as well as any woman in the county. For an Italian, that is.”
I recalled Beatrice’s scrumptious spaghetti and meatballs and pie to rival even Mamm’s. “She’s a marvelous cook.”
“But asking her for help would be a humbling experience you’d rather not face?”
“Yah. A childish reaction, I know.”
“I hear she’s had a difficult life.” Olivia’s pert features turned melancholy, the corners of her mouth drooping. “Her parents arranged a marriage for her to a man she didn’t love.” She winced. “Ach, and they say he gambled and had ties to the Mafia and left her penniless. They say he was murdered. But you know how gossip is.”
“Sounds doubtful. Mamm’s never mentioned a thing, and they grew up near each other.”
“Well, think about it. Why would Beatrice need a job at her age? She’s in her late sixties, don’t ya think?”
“I wouldn’t dare ask her.”
“She sold her house last year. Where did the money go?” Olivia’s eyes widened. “I’ve heard to pay off back taxes and her husband’s debts. They say he was quite a handsome fellow who’d sing opera while doing chores and mowing the lawn. And a ladies’ man.”
I stared back at her in disbelief.
Olivia bumped her hip against mine. “But you know how gossip is.”
“Do I ever. I’ve been a victim of the faceless viper.” I lowered my volume. “I remember last year when one of the ministers admonished the congregation to refrain from gossiping. He glanced up and stared directly at me.”
She shook her head. “Evie, he was admonishing the whole congregation. We’re all guilty of it. The entire world doesn’t orbit around you.” Olivia’s blunt words stung, but she was right. Hadn’t we just been speculating about Beatrice?
She leaned closer. “Tongues will be wagging about me soon enough.”
NINETEEN
Before turning in that night, I knocked on the big house’s kitchen door and asked Beatrice to teach me how to make minestrone soup for the next day.
“I’d be delighted. In fact, I’ll come help and bring homemade pasta.”
“You make your own pasta from scratch?”
“Certo! Everything is better when you start from scratch. Si? Mi dispiace, but I forget sometimes. Mio marito—I mean, my husband—and I spoke Italian most of the time.” She sighed.
I ventured into uncharted territory. “You must miss him.”
Her eyes moistened. “You can’t imagine if you’ve never been married. At first I resented him, but I grew to love and depend on him over the years.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Although heartbroken myself, I couldn’t relate to her depth of sorrow.
That night I tossed in a sea of uncertainty, dreaming and wishing Jake would return. Knowing he shouldn’t. Hoping to hear Heath’s barking to be let in the main house. But nothing.
When would God answer my prayers? I’d prayed Jake wouldn’t be incarcerated, and he hadn’t been. I’d prayed his father wouldn’t die, and so far, so good—although I dreaded seeing the semicomatose man. But my prayers for a happily-ever-after life floated out of my grasp like bubbles in the millpond where I played as a child.
The next morning I dragged myself to the café to find Beatrice already preparing the soup and singing along to what must be an Italian aria on the radio. “O mio babbino caro …”
“Good morning,” I said as I entered the kitchen. “You have a beautiful voice.”
“You’re too kind. I don’t do Puccini justice.” She turned off the radio. “The greatest composers were Italian.” It occurred to me that her favorite music was the opposite of what we sang in church services. Fortunately, singings allowed voices to frolic up and down the octaves. I wondered if I could still sing as I did in school.
“A fine good morning to you, Eva. Or buon giorno, as they say in Italy.”
I didn’t resent her cheerfulness one bit. In fact, I was grateful she’d already warmed the chicken broth and chopped the vegetables, and was sautéing them in olive oil. Heavy on the garlic.
I peered around Beatrice and noticed a can of kidney beans. “Where did you learn to cook so well?” I asked.
“From mia nona—my grandmother.” She turned to me and grinned, catching me off guard. “But maybe I’ll w
rite this down for you to put in your recipe book.”
“I don’t have one.”
“Not even copies of your mama’s favorite recipes?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll get you started. You’ll need a cookbook and your favorites when you marry a good man. Not that Jake fellow.”
“He’s not so bad.”
“No? Then why did he up and leave his family?”
“But he’s back now.”
“For how long? I must get over to his parents’ house to see Amos and Ruth after Mass tomorrow. I’ll ask Stephen to drive me.”
I couldn’t imagine a more awkward situation than arriving at the Millers’ the same time Beatrice and Stephen did.
“You’d better make the coffee, Eva. You know how dark I like mine. The customers wouldn’t like it.”
“Yours was gut at dinner, but yah, okay.” I started the coffee brewing—enough to fill the carafe and then some. I’d need all the caffeine I could get to perk myself up.
Sadie arrived in time to hear me say, “The whole dinner was appeditlich. Absolutely delicious.”
“And the company? You’re a fool if you don’t snap up Mark before he loses interest. Although some men want what they can’t have.”
“Hello, Sadie.” I heightened my volume to alter the trajectory of the conversation. Poor girl.
She produced a meager smile. “Hi, Evie and Beatrice.” She inhaled. “It smells great in here.”
“All Beatrice’s doing.”
Stephen sauntered in from the front door minutes later. “I wanted to let you know I’ll be out for a while. Wayne called to say there’s a dog running loose. He told me animal control is on the lookout. I may stop by that sheep farmer’s again. Wayne said his name is Bill Hastings.”
“Do you want me to go with you?” I asked.
“What? Who’s going to run the café?” Beatrice clucked. “I think Stephen can handle this.”
“You’re right.” But I worried about another altercation with the sheep farmer. “Maybe you should ride with Wayne,” I told him.
His brows lowered, hooding his eyes. “Glenn called and said he’ll come home early if Heath isn’t found within the next twenty-four hours. But he doesn’t want to leave his wife and baby. Not with his father-in-law so sick.”