Starting from Scratch

by Kate Lloyd

  “Oh.” So she’d seen me driving Stephen’s pickup. I wondered how long she’d watched us.

  THIRTY

  I dreaded having to call Emma and tell her the bad news. Fortunately, she was near their phone shanty—perhaps hoping to hear from Mark?—and answered on the third ring.

  “Gut morning.” Emma was all giggles until I told her about our assessment of her whoopie pies. Like the flip of a switch, she flew into a rage. “You’re just jealous ’cause Mark likes me now!”

  I held the receiver away from my ear to lessen her volume. So Olivia had told her about Mark’s interest in me. Well, I figured hurt feelings about the pies were spurring her on, but she needed to know the truth.

  “Nee, I’m not. Emma, maybe you got the ingredients mixed up.” I couldn’t win. I was either telling her I had no interest in the man of her dreams or that she was a lousy cook.

  Without saying goodbye, she hung up on me with a resonating clunk.

  “Anything else you ladies need?” Stephen asked before he left. “I’m taking Heath with me just to get the poor dog out of the house.”

  “Good idea.” Beatrice was already gathering ingredients for corn bread, bran muffins, and whoopie pies. “Everything will be okay. My soup will be so good today, and for this morning, we’ll have the whoopie pies you’re bringing back.”

  “What would we do without you, Bea?”

  “Now, now. You’d be fine.” She glanced at me. “You have Eva.”

  I was bamboozled by her statement.

  Later in the morning, Mark strolled into the café, but he barely glanced my way—only long enough to avoid walking right into me. Sadie sashayed over to him with a mug of coffee. He thanked her. Scanning the glass case, he said, “Where are Emma’s baked goods?”

  “Still in a box right here.” Sadie’s grin was too wide to conceal her delight. “Come taste a whoopie pie, Mark.” The cardboard box sat on the counter. She placed a whoopie pie on a plate.

  “Denki.” He brought it to his mouth and sank his teeth into the cocoa-colored dough, only to sputter. “Ach, this is greislich.” He washed it down with a couple swallows of coffee. “How can this be?”

  Sadie mashed her lips together, but her eyes remained bright. “Maybe she doesn’t cook as well as Olivia.”

  I stepped in. “We’re not sure what went wrong, but we can’t serve those. Stephen drove out to buy some for today. This afternoon or evening, Beatrice and I will bake more.”

  “I have work to do.” Mark lumbered off wearing a surly expression. An idea took shape in my mind, but I’d keep it to myself until I spoke to Stephen.

  An hour later, he returned with the Marshmallow Fluff and Dutch-process cocoa powder and handed the bag to me. He had a dozen whoopie pies too.

  I turned to Sadie. “Would you like to lend a hand in the baking?”

  “Yah, I would. My mamm says I bake as well as she does. Not that I should brag.” Her blush permeated her translucent skin.

  “Stephen, Sadie wants to help us cook too. Would you mind?”

  “Not one bit,” Beatrice said to me before Stephen could answer. She bustled over to retrieve the bag.

  “Glad to have her help,” he said. “But then we really must hire someone else to bus the tables.”

  “I can stay late, seeing as I’ve nothing else to do.” Sadie moved to his side. “I won’t even make you pay me.”

  “Thanks for your kind offer,” Stephen said, “but as long as you’re working, you’ll earn a wage. I’ll ask around the nursery and see if anyone’s sister wants to come in and work here. In fact, doesn’t Mark have a couple of sisters?”

  “Susie, but she has her hands full already with laundry.” Shaking my head once, I silenced myself. “I mean, I’d rather you didn’t hire her, if at all possible.”

  Understanding seemed to dawn. “All right. Whatever you say.”

  “I know someone,” Beatrice said. “A fine young woman from church who mentioned she needs a part-time job. She’s worked in fast-food places in the past.”

  “Please ask her to come in for an interview with me and Evie, who is the café’s manager, after all,” Stephen said.

  “Thank you, I will.” Beatrice glanced to the ceiling for a moment. “What should we do with Emma’s whoopie pies?”

  “Dump them in with the food recycle if you think the hogs will eat them. Better save a couple in case she or her brother come back demanding proof.” He aimed his voice at me. “Call her, will you, Evie?”

  “Ach, I already did, and our conversation didn’t go well. She hung up on me.” I hoped Stephen wouldn’t take it as an indication that I couldn’t manage our staff.

  “Women.” Stephen slapped his thigh. “Sorry, ladies, but sometimes I just don’t understand you. Why take everything so personally?”

  I wanted to tell him I didn’t understand men either. But he was correct. At least about me. I took most everything personally, often for no tangible reason. Another hurdle to surmount, I decided.

  Beatrice was right about her soup. Customers came back for seconds, and we served her fresh-out-of-the oven corn bread and bran muffins with raisins, as well as buttered toast and the whoopie pies Stephen bought. Fortunately, the crowd thinned out quickly, and Sadie and I could clear the tables and fill the dishwasher in a timely fashion.

  Beatrice swabbed the cooking counter and brought out ingredients. Here I was twenty-nine, and I had never baked a whoopie pie.

  She turned to me. “Always preheat the oven. This recipe calls for 400 degrees. We’re going to make a double batch, so we should get out the baking sheets ahead of time and grease them to make sure we have enough. Otherwise, I have plenty of pans in the house.”

  Beatrice asked Sadie to combine the sugar, oil, and eggs in a large mixing bowl and beat until creamy. “Then stir in flour, dry cocoa, and a teaspoon of salt.” Beatrice scanned the recipe. “Come on, Evie, I want you to also mix the ingredients for the cookies.”

  With trepidation, I brought out a stainless steel bowl and followed the directions as she read them aloud. “Stir until thoroughly mixed.” She spoke over my shoulder. “No lumps, mind you.”

  When I finished mixing, she steered me to the baking sheets and handed me a teaspoon. Moments later, I was dropping rounded teaspoons of the mixture onto the greased sheet. “They’ll need to bake for eight to ten minutes.” She held the recipe out so I could see it. “Says here, we mustn’t let them overbake. Then they’ll need to cool completely before cutting them in half. That will give us plenty of time to make the filling. I give that chore to you, Evie.”

  “But I’m your boss at the café. And I give Sadie that job.”

  Beatrice raised an eyebrow. “Evie, it’s time you learned your way around a kitchen. Whatever you make has to be better than Emma’s.”

  “Yah,” Sadie chimed in. “Ach, hers was the worst ever.”

  An hour later, as Beatrice and I assembled the whoopie pies to be served the next day, Stephen ambled in.

  “Well, the locks to the café are changed. How goes the battle?” he asked, handing both Beatrice and me our new keys. “Smells good in here.”

  “We were just about to sample our first one.” Beatrice placed a complete whoopie pie on a plate with flourish. As she cut it, I prayed all our labor had produced a good result.

  She put the plate out for Stephen to sample it. He took his time, probably recalling the appalling pie he’d eaten earlier. He cut into it again until his portion was the size of a grape. Finally, he closed his eyes and plunked the morsel into his mouth. His eyes flew open, and a grin spread across his face. “Why, this is fabulous!”

  Beatrice took a bite and swallowed. “Simply delicious.”

  I paused as Sadie pronounced it the best she’d ever eaten. All eyes turned to me.

  Stephen held out the plate. “Come on, Evie, you can’t serve customers what you won’t eat yourself.”

  As I bit into the whoopie pie, my taste buds sprang to life. The choco
late cookie was delectable, and the creamy filling luscious, far superior than I’d hoped for. “I can’t believe it. As good as Olivia’s. I’m sure Sadie or I could reproduce them, especially with Beatrice standing by.” I felt a burden lift from my shoulders and my stomach relax.

  But Olivia’s disappearance and the whoopie pies were just a couple of my problems. Other challenges loomed on the horizon—of that I was sure.

  In uniform, Wayne marched into the café. “Pardon me, folks, but I need to speak to Stephen.”

  Stephen stepped toward him and then said, “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Wish I was. Please check for Glenn’s big male Lab, will you?”

  Stephen turned to Beatrice. “Is Heath in the house?”

  She nodded. “As far as I know. I checked on him a couple of hours ago. And Mark walked him on leash earlier.”

  “Hold on. I’ll go look for myself.” Stephen seemed to bristle inside.

  Like following the Pied Piper, Wayne, Beatrice, and I trailed after Stephen toward the house. We could barely keep up. As we neared the house, I expected to hear Heath’s woofing, but when I looked through the glass-paned kitchen door window, Missy stood inside, her tail wagging. She let out a gentle woof, and Minnie yapped with excitement.

  Stephen opened the door. “Heath?” He turned to Beatrice. “Why wasn’t this door locked?”

  “We never lock it during the day. Just at night.”

  “Why on earth not?” Wayne’s voice boomed.

  Growing up in a house where the doors were never bolted, I wasn’t at all surprised. “Who would enter a home with three dogs?”

  Wayne’s mouth contorted. “Obviously, someone who isn’t the least bit afraid of them.” He sounded as surly as a German shepherd. “I need to get over to Bill’s house pronto.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Stephen said.

  “No, you don’t. This is official police business.”

  “Then I’ll follow you. If Heath’s there, he’ll come when I call. I’m the only one he obeys other than his owner.”

  “I’m not giving you permission to follow me, but I won’t stop you. But, please, Stephen, let me do all the talking. Got that?”

  “Yep. Other than to call for Heath, I’ll keep silent.”

  “I’m coming too,” I said. Much as I feared a repeat of our last encounter with the sheepherder, I was bound and determined to accompany Stephen. “Sadie can close the café without me, can’t she?”

  “Yes, not a problem,” Beatrice said. “I’ll go back and make sure the place is prepped and ready for the morning.”

  Wayne’s patrol car tore out of the nursery’s parking lot. I ran after Stephen and climbed into the pickup’s passenger seat as he was igniting the engine. “What do you think you’re doing?” he snapped.

  “The same as you.” My heart racing, I clipped on my seat belt.

  When we reached the sheep farmer’s property, Bill must have heard the vehicles arriving. He swaggered out onto the porch. Wayne got out of his squad car and headed to the house.

  We pulled up next to Wayne’s car. As Wayne neared the house, Bill yelled at him and shook his fist, but I couldn’t understand his words. Just as well, as I assumed he was pelting Wayne with profanities.

  Wayne stood at the bottom of the steps, putting him at a disadvantage, although I noticed he wore a firearm.

  “I wonder if we’re too late.” Stephen cut the engine.

  “Please, Stephen. Whatever happens, keep your temper in check.” Half of me was glued to the seat, but my hand reached for the door’s handle.

  He exited his pickup. I got out slowly, not wanting to stir up further turmoil. I reminded myself I didn’t even like dogs, but I’d be distraught if anything bad happened to Heath. I imagined the dog in the pasture attacking a lamb and Bill with his shotgun. My lungs felt as though they were collapsing.

  Stephen sauntered over next to Wayne. Stephen pressed his lips together and remained silent. I guessed he was using herculean strength to keep himself under control.

  “How should I know?” Bill’s words rippled with rage. “Probably killed another of my prize sheep and took off.”

  “Calm down, Bill,” Wayne said, patting the air. “We’ll get this all straightened out.”

  “What about Ralph?” Stephen asked Wayne. “Where is he?”

  Bill sneered. “No clue. I’m not my brother’s keeper.”

  Stephen called for Heath and then rounded the house and proceeded toward the basement door at the bottom of a flight of cement stairs.

  “Hey, hold on, let me handle this.” Wayne sprinted to reach the basement first, and I followed to watch. He knocked on the door, using the side of his hand.

  Silence.

  “Open up, Ralph, or I’m coming in.” Wayne tried the doorknob and found it unlocked. With his hand on his weapon, he shouldered the door open.

  “If I know him, Ralph went out on a binge last night and is sleeping it off somewhere,” Bill said.

  “Your brother’s been raiding our café,” Stephen said.

  “No way. Got proof?”

  “I was an eyewitness.” My voice came out tinny. “He had a key—”

  Wayne raised his hand to silence me. “Better let me do the talking.” He turned to Bill. “You sure you have another dead sheep?”

  Bill winced as another squad car pulled up and two officers got out. Wayne motioned them around the back of the house. “We’ll go check.” He turned to Stephen. “You can come with us, but I want Eva to wait here in case there’s any trouble.”

  Bill followed them. Impatiently, I sat on the front steps for a few minutes. The gray paint was chipped and pealing. One of the steps looked to have dry rot at the end. The whole house needed to be painted. As I inspected the disrepair, a woman cast a shadow in the window. Clad in a bubblegum-pink chenille bathrobe, she finally cracked the door.

  “Hello. I’m Eva Lapp.” I tried to appear composed.

  A cigarette hung from her lower lip. “I’m Bill’s—er, wife.” She cinched her robe and leaned through the doorway. “Don’t pay no attention to Billy. I didn’t hear nothing last night or this morning.”

  “What about Ralph? Do you know where he is?”

  “I haven’t seen that bum since yesterday, and good riddance.”

  “Did he have a dog with him?”

  “He don’t own no dog.” She hacked but didn’t remove the cigarette.

  “Do you know where he might be?” I was determined to pump her well dry for information.

  She exhaled a puff of smoke. “Bill thinks Ralph often goes to a barn to sleep it off. Because he comes back with a hangover and covered with hay.”

  “The one that got burnt down years ago and then rebuilt?”

  “I wouldn’t know. Ralph could be anywhere. One thing we got plenty of around here is barns.”

  Male voices expanded in volume as all the men except Bill returned, grumbling to each other.

  “Well?” I stood. “I’m almost afraid to ask what you found.”

  “Nothing. One lamb is missing, according to Bill, and no sign of Heath.” Stephen moved closer. “My hunch is a pack of coyotes dragged the lamb away.”

  “Ach, that’s sad.” Thankfully, I hadn’t seen a lamb’s mangled carcass.

  “Yep. If any of his story is true.”

  “What about Ralph?” I looked to the front door, but Bill’s wife—or whatever her relationship to him was—had retreated into the house, leaving a trace of cigarette smoke as a witness to her presence. I assumed living with Bill was no picnic, but who was I to judge?

  “I spoke to a woman who said she hadn’t seen him.”

  “Bill’s wife?” Wayne asked. I figured he knew all the local gossip, so no need to fill him in on the couple’s questionable living arrangement.

  “She said she hasn’t seen Ralph since yesterday,” I said. “And that he might be sleeping in a barn somewhere.”

  Bill finally came around the corner of th
e house, but Stephen ignored him and aimed his words at Wayne. “So now we have a case of theft.”

  “No way to prove Ralph stole Glenn’s dog.” Wayne stood akimbo. “Our trip was a waste of time.”

  Stephen folded his arms. “I think Ralph broke into Glenn’s house and stole his dog. I want to press charges.”

  “How you gonna prove that?” Bill’s tone was belligerent. “Any witnesses?”

  On the drive back to the nursery, Stephen lowered his window and called Heath’s name. The sun was setting, the sky draining of color. When we finally arrived, I was surprised to find Jake’s borrowed car parked near my little abode.

  THIRTY-ONE

  What’s he doing here?” Stephen’s pent-up anger seemed to inflate the air pressure in the pickup’s cab.

  I recognized the silhouette of Jake’s profile in the dim light, but I didn’t respond. I had no idea why he was here, but the sight of him sent a tingling buzz through me. Ach, I couldn’t help myself.

  When Stephen turned off his engine, he made no move to get out or stop me. “Call me if Heath returns. Please tell Beatrice I’m still looking for him. Goodbye, Eva.” His farewell sounded final. Like the end of an era. I watched as he pulled away.

  As I turned toward Jake’s car, he opened his door. He wore clean Englisch clothes and looked as though he’d just stepped out of the shower. His bangs hung longer, or maybe that was just me wishing he was intentionally growing them. He approached me slowly as I walked to the cabin.

  “Wait up, my love.”

  I whirled around. “Is this some kind of cruel joke? You said you might marry Brandy.”

  “Nee, I want to spend my life with you.” He took hold of my elbow, but I jerked out of his grasp.

  I cautioned myself to stay strong. “I don’t know what to believe, Jake.” A dreadful thought flooded my brain. “Is Amos worse? Did your mamm send you here?”

  “Just one minute.” Jake’s handsome face transformed to a mask of indignation. “What about Stephen? Were you two just out on a date? Are you infatuated with him?”