Starting from Scratch

by Kate Lloyd

  “I’ll take the rap for it,” Jake said. “I deserve to. I coaxed her into trying something she didn’t want to do.”

  Stephen moved in on us. “She had no business driving without proper instruction, which I would have been glad to give her if that’s what she wanted.”

  Wayne inspected Jake’s driver’s license. “Looks okay, but I’ll have to check for outstanding warrants.” Perspiration glistened on his face. “Any proof of ownership in the car?”

  “I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you mean.” Jake got back into the car and rifled through the glove box. “The owner’s certificate must be in here.”

  A crooked smirk on his face, Wayne stood with his arms crossed. “You mean the license plate certificate? At least the tabs are current.”

  “I’ll give you a ride home,” Stephen told me.

  Jake must have heard him because he poked his head out and said, “No, you won’t. I’m taking Evie home.”

  Wayne neared Jake and sniffed the air. “I should give you a Breathalyzer test, Jake. Have you been drinking? Smoking dope?”

  “No, no, none of that.” Jake waved him away.

  Wayne grabbed hold of Jake’s arm. “Unless I see a little more cooperation and respect, you’re spending the night in jail.”

  “Come on, Evie,” Stephen said, “I’ll drop you off at the cabin.”

  “But Beatrice will see us.”

  “So? I have every reason to be there. I’m making sure you get home safely.”

  Wayne and Jake were arguing, so I turned away from them and pretended I couldn’t hear their jagged words. I climbed into the pickup’s cab.

  The accident was my blunder, and I should stay and pay the consequences, not Jake. “It was my fault,” I told Stephen. “Jake’s trying to protect me.”

  “So he put you behind the wheel without teaching you how to drive first? Some protection.”

  Stephen steered his pickup onto the road. “What are you doing hanging out with him?” He gripped the wheel. “Yeah, yeah, I know his father’s ill, but don’t let Jake sucker you in.”

  Minutes later, we were entering the nursery’s expansive parking lot. Stephen pulled to a halt near the retail shop and left the engine idling.

  “I only wish…” I felt like a failure.

  “What? That you could learn to drive?”

  “Yah, that might have been my one and only opportunity, and I blew it.” My world felt topsy-turvy. “I’ll never have another chance.”

  “I can help you learn to drive if you really want to.” Stephen turned to face me and inspected my expression. “But no pressure if you say no.” His voice was assuring but not pushy. With him I felt confident.

  “Yah, I do want to try—as long as you don’t let me run into anything.”

  “There’s not much to hit in this huge parking lot.” He gave me a methodical lesson on which pedals did what, and then he adjusted the mirrors and the steering wheel. We switched places. “Buckle in and take a moment to look around. Now, go easy, okay? We’re in no hurry.”

  “Yah, okay.” I tapped the gas pedal so lightly the vehicle crept a few feet and then stopped.

  “You can give it more gas, Evie.”

  I pressed harder and the pickup gained momentum.

  “Turn the steering wheel to the right.” His hand grasped onto it to help me rotate the wheel. “And you can try going a little faster.”

  My foot punched the gas pedal, spinning the rear wheels out on the gravel. It felt like ice-skating on the pond in winter.

  “Ease up on the gas.” He reached over to take the wheel as my foot jammed on the brakes. “It’s all or nothing with you,” he said. “Have you never heard of the saying ‘moderation in all things’?”

  I thought I was going to cry, but instead giggles erupted from my mouth. Stephen chortled too until the cab was bursting with laughter. Tears of hilarity sprang to my eyes. His eyes were brimming too.

  Without thinking, I collapsed into his arms. As quickly as our laughter started, it subsided. His face was inches from mine. He bent his head closer, and his lips brushed against my cheek. A gentle and sweet kiss, but a kiss nevertheless. I wanted to kiss him back, to sink into his embrace, but sanity took hold. I pushed away and leaned against the cab’s door.

  Stephen straightened his back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. Please forgive me.”

  I sat in silence for several moments, pondering my actions. I wanted to drive an automobile. I was tempted to kiss Stephen, and I still might.

  “I must ask you to forgive me,” I said. “You could lose your job.”

  “For kissing you?” The backs of his fingertips directed stray hairs behind my ears.

  “Isn’t there a rule about fraternizing with the employees?”

  “I don’t think so. Or against falling in love with one. Several Amish couples working here have later become wedded.”

  “But they were both Amish, yah?”

  “Yes, they were.” He took hold of one of my kapp’s strings and twirled it between two fingers. “And I’m not. You know I’m attracted to you, don’t you?”

  I stared back at him in disbelief.

  “It doesn’t seem you’re in a rush to become baptized.”

  “I promised my parents I would. I was planning to, but now I don’t know.”

  He flicked the string behind my back. “Are you waiting for Jake to make up his mind before you do? You could wait forever for him and never be wed.” The truth of his words stung.

  “When I drove Beatrice over to the Millers’ and met Brandy, it was plain to see she dotes on Jake.” He expelled a lengthy sigh. “And no, I don’t believe Jake’s story about not being the father. I expect she’ll give birth to a towheaded baby—blond like both parents.”

  The image had entered my mind earlier tonight, but I’d tried to brush it away like a cobweb that wouldn’t let go. I pictured Jake cradling the baby in his arms and felt a flood of grief saturate my heart.

  “Wouldn’t Ruth and Amos be thrilled to have Jake and their new grandchild living with them?” Stephen brought me back to the present. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you sad. But sometimes facing the truth is for the best, even if painful.”

  “Then why does Amos ask for me?” I recalled Amos’s shriveled lips mouthing my name.

  “The man’s mind is all messed up. His memory’s shot?”

  “No one knows for sure.”

  “It’s time to move on, Evie. Even if Amos remembers you, what does that have to do with Jake? Has he been faithful to you?” Stephen’s words felt like a needed slap in the face to bring me back to reality.

  My hand moved to the nape of my neck. “Nee. Out of sight, out of mind. And he believed the rumors about me without even verifying them.” I felt salty moisture pushing behind my eyes, but I held it in. I was done crying over Jake Miller.

  TWENTY-NINE

  The sun was fully up, the light threading itself past the window shades and making a slit of gold color along the left side of my single bed. Promises of a beautiful day, but I felt in a benumbed state, slow and doltish. I pushed to a sitting position and propelled myself out of bed. I needed to scramble.

  As I entered the café, my mood spiraled upward upon hearing Beatrice singing an Italian song in the kitchen. Stephen and his sleeping bag must already be gone.

  “Hope you don’t mind that I started the soup.” She grinned over her shoulder. “I know we talked about a different soup yesterday, but I couldn’t sleep. So I got out my grandmother’s cookbook and found a family recipe that’s out of this world. Molto deliciosa.”

  I inhaled the aroma of browning sausage. “What are you making?”

  “Zuppa Toscana.”

  “Ach, that sausage smells so good.”

  “That’s because it’s Italian.” She stirred her concoction of sausage, diced onions, garlic, and crushed red peppers. “Would you please wash and slice these potatoes for when I need them?”

 
“Of course. Anything you say.” Her good mood was infectious—exactly what I needed after a confused and sleepless night.

  “I’ll add chicken stock and heavy cream later.” She kissed the air for effect. “Our customers will rave about it, I promise. You know, ten percent of the population in Lancaster County is of Italian descent. But Amish customers will love this soup too.”

  “That’s news to me. I hadn’t heard that statistic.” I wondered if she were teasing me. “Are you sure?”

  “Certo—absolutely. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if Stephen Troyer weren’t of Italian descent.”

  “But he’s Mennonite, and his last name isn’t Italian.”

  Her belly shook as she chuckled. “Stephen took his adoptive parents’ last name. He told me once he’d never met his father. I’d say he’s at least half Italian with that striking profile.”

  “Really? You think he’s handsome?”

  “What woman wouldn’t? But I’m afraid he’s too young for me.” She smirked. “It’s a shame he’s not Amish, Eva.” She raised her brows, as if she’d been watching Stephen and me out the window last night. The dogs had no doubt heard Stephen’s truck and our voices and had awakened her.

  Reliving spending time with Stephen last night, I couldn’t remember when I had last laughed so hard or experienced so much fun. Later, when he walked me to my cabin, in my wild, impetuous mood, I might have kissed him on the lips if he’d tried. He’d lingered longer than seemed necessary. The electrical current zinging between us was not my imagination.

  Urgent rapping on the back door ended my musings. I scuttled to open the door and found Olivia’s brother carrying her baked goods in a cardboard box. He set the box down hard and swung around to face me. “Have you seen Liv? Has she called you here?”

  “She stopped by a couple of days ago.” I recalled my promise to her and now wished she hadn’t confided in me.

  Her brother’s bearded face was stern, his eyes growing small. “If you know where she is, Eva, please tell me. Our parents are frantic.”

  “I don’t know where she is.” That was the truth. “I’m sorry I can’t help you. I know she has a boyfriend, but I’ve never met him.”

  He pinched between his eyes. “Did you encourage her to leave us?”

  “Absolutely not! I never would.” The fact I might never see my dear cousin again filled me with despair. I didn’t have many women friends.

  He expelled a weighty breath. “I’d best be on my way or I’ll be late to work.”

  “Wait a minute.” I sniffed in the aroma of the baked goods. “Who did the baking this morning?” I didn’t want to let on that Olivia told me she’d have Emma bake.

  “Our younger schweschder, Emma.”

  I wouldn’t mention seeing Emma in Mark’s buggy last night, although I doubted anyone in her family would disapprove of Mark. Still, Amish couples liked to keep their dating habits confidential. “I hear she’s a fine cook. I’ll be delighted to try her whoopie pies today.”

  He tossed me a blank look as if he weren’t listening. “My hunch is she knows where Olivia is, but Emma refuses to say a word. If she stops by later or calls here, please ask her, will ya?”

  “Well, I don’t know. I’d better stay out of it. I need Emma’s help with the baked goods.”

  His upper lip lifted into a snarl, but thankfully he didn’t state his opinion.

  After he left, I told Beatrice and Sadie we had a new baker for now. “Olivia’s away.” Fortunately, neither of the women asked where Olivia had gone. I’d fibbed enough for one day.

  Ten minutes later, Emma called from her family’s phone shanty and asked if her baking was up to Olivia’s caliber.

  “Are ya happy with my whoopie pies?” Her voice sounded exuberant, not like a young woman whose older sister had run away from home, which puzzled me.

  “Beatrice and I were going to sample one as soon as they arrived, but then we got too busy. I’m sure they’ll be as delicious as Olivia’s. She said you’re a fine cook.”

  “She did? I’m so happy to hear that. Does this mean I’m hired?”

  “Yah, Emma, you’re hired for a week to start, to produce our baked desserts. Can I count on you?” I imagined she was basking in her accolades.

  “Yah, as long as my parents don’t nix the idea. But so far they’re happy with the arrangement because I won’t be working in a store with tourists.” She seemed a regular little chatterbox, not the little sister treading in Olivia’s shadow. I imagined spending time with Mark yesterday evening had boosted Emma’s ego. She’d probably been the envy of every young woman at the singing last night. But I wasn’t the least bit sorry I hadn’t attended.

  “Will your bruder keep delivering the baked goods?” I asked.

  “He said he would. If not, I’ll just have to find another man. Maybe Mark, who works for the nursery. You know which man I mean, right?”

  “Yah. In fact, I can see him out the café’s window.” Fortunately, he didn’t glance my way as he passed by pushing an empty wheelbarrow.

  Minutes later, Stephen strolled in. “Everything okay?”

  “Yah.” I lowered my eyes in embarrassment. I assumed he felt the same way, as if we both regretted crossing the invisible boundary of propriety.

  Only Beatrice seemed at ease and said, “Don’t keep us in suspense. Did Ralph return to the café last night?”

  “No. And Wayne’s men staked out Bill Hastings’s place, but they didn’t see him there either.” Stephen finally glanced my way. “The bottom line is the police have pronounced Heath innocent. They think coyotes have been killing the man’s sheep.”

  “Hurray!” I never thought I’d care for a canine. “Does Glenn know?”

  “Yep, I texted him right away. There’s a three-hour difference, so I didn’t want to call and wake him.”

  “I’m so happy.” Beatrice butterfly-clapped her hands. “May I let him run out during the day?”

  “Well, better wait on that.” Stephen glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, making me wonder if he knew I was still afraid of Heath at a stratum so deep I couldn’t shake it.

  Stephen helped himself to coffee. “The locksmith should be here soon.” He aimed his voice at me. “I don’t want you ever coming in here again and finding you’re not alone.” He paused. “No more acts of heroism, okay?”

  Sunlight danced off Beatrice’s gold hoop earrings. “When Glenn and Rose return, everything will be back to normal.”

  “I hope so.” Stephen sent me a furtive glance I couldn’t interpret.

  I figured nothing would ever be normal again. Jake was possibly planning to marry Brandy—maybe more to spite me than to give her baby a father—and I might not join the church so I could explore a relationship with Stephen. If he were even interested.

  Sadie arrived twenty minutes late, which wasn’t like her. When I met her at the back door, she looked bewildered, her posture slumped.

  “Don’t waste any more of your time hoping for Mark,” she whispered. “He’s just stringing you along.” She wrestled off her jacket and hung it on a hook. “I saw him last night at the singing, all lovey-dovey with Emma, Olivia’s little schweschder. Then they both hopped in his buggy, laughing and joking as if they’d never been so happy.”

  I wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Sadie.” I couldn’t tell her under what circumstances I’d also seen the couple. Or that I was glad to be free of Mark’s attentions.

  We joined Stephen and Beatrice in the kitchen. Beatrice placed a chocolate whoopie pie on a plate and sliced it into quarters, its frothy filling bulging out. “Let’s sample one of these.” She grinned as she wiped the knife on her finger and tasted the filling. Then her mouth puckered, and she spit into her palm and dumped its contents into the garbage. Coughing, she poured a glass of water and gulped it down. “We have a problem.”

  “What?” I nibbled a bite, but my mouth refused to swallow the offensive taste. I washed it down with a mouthful of co
ffee.

  Sadie burst into a ripple of laughter. “What are you doing? Playing a joke?”

  “I wish.” I sipped more coffee.

  “Here, give me some.” Stephen’s large hand scooped up a morsel, which he plunked in his mouth. His face contorted. He turned away and spit his bite into the garbage too. “This is terrible.” He poured some water and cleansed his mouth.

  Sadie shook her head and giggled. “I’m not eating any. Is it rat poison?”

  “Tastes like it.” Stephen swigged more water.

  Beatrice shook her head. “I wonder if she used salt instead of sugar. We certainly can’t serve these to the customers.”

  “Evie, call Olivia right away,” Stephen said.

  I hated to be the bearer of bad news when Stephen had so much else to deal with. “Her brother says she’s away. Her younger sister, Emma, cooked these.”

  “Why didn’t Olivia warn us?” Stephen said. “We’ll have to buy some at a local bakery.”

  “All is not lost. I can easily bake corn bread and bran muffins.” Beatrice brought out a cookbook of Amish favorites. “Let’s see, I’m pretty sure we have most of the ingredients for whoopie pies. Flour, baking powder, vanilla, unsalted butter, milk, brown sugar, eggs, confectioner’s sugar, and vanilla.” She jotted down several words on a piece of paper and handed the slip to Stephen.

  “While you’re out, please pick up some Marshmallow Fluff and Dutch-processed cocoa powder. Don’t worry. The local grocery store employees will know what they are. I can make whoopie pies this afternoon.” She seemed unruffled. “They may not taste as good as Olivia’s, but I can cook anything using a recipe. So can Eva. She’ll help me.”

  I stiffened. “But I’ve never made whoopie pies in my life.”

  Beatrice shot me a grin. “There’s a first time for everything, no?”

  “But I’ll be busy—”

  “Then we’ll cook them after supper. Time to experiment with new things. Like driving a car?”