by Anna Schmidt
He eased his hold on her and forced his breathing to steady. And then she did the very last thing he might have expected her to do. She stood on tiptoe and gently kissed his cheek. “You make a good case, Luke Starns. I will sleep on it and give you my answer tomorrow.”
And then she was gone, the screen door closing behind her with a soft click and then the front door. Luke stood there for a long moment, his fingers touching the place where she had kissed him, his heart hammering so hard he doubted seriously that he could make it back to the dry goods store. Instead he sat down on the top step and absently picked up a cookie from the plate she’d left behind.
He chewed slowly, savoring the spicy crispness. Greta Goodloe had one thing in her favor for any man considering her as his wife—she made the best ginger cookie that Luke had ever tasted.
* * *
In her room Greta undressed and pulled on her ankle-length cotton nightgown. She straightened the gown’s long sleeves and then carefully folded her clothes for use the following day. And all the while she was thinking about Luke. She crossed her arms over her chest and held onto her shoulders, remembering how his hands had felt when he’d gripped her there earlier.
For an instant she had thought he might kiss her. More to the point she had hoped that he might. She shook her head at that realization. What kind of woman was she that she could so easily leave all thought of Josef behind and turn to this stranger instead?
But Josef’s touch had never aroused in her these feelings. Luke’s simple act of placing his hands on her shoulders had provoked turmoil of her heart and mind.
Greta fell to her knees beside her single bed and clasped her fingers tightly together as she bowed her head and prayed for God’s guidance. “I am so very confused,” she admitted aloud. “About Josef and now Luke and...well, just everything. I want to follow the path You have set for me but I honestly don’t understand which turn to take.” She unclasped her hands and pounded her fist on the soft mattress. “Help me,” she whispered. “Show me the way.” And then she thought better of her words. “Show me Your way,” she amended and quickly added prayers for Lydia and Pleasant and her family and even Josef. “And Luke,” she added finally. “He has suffered the loss of his home and business in one event. But more than that he seems to carry a heavy burden of loneliness and sadness. Whatever life he left behind when he came to Celery Fields troubles him still.”
Her eyes sprang open as she realized that Luke Starns had not offered her his friendship out of pity. He had offered it out of his own need to find someone he could talk to and trust. What had he said? Something about friendship being its own reward?
“Oh, Greta Goodloe, you do suffer from the sin of self-importance. Surely God is showing you that it is time—past time—that you stopped thinking always first of your needs and dreams and place your attention on others.” At first light she was determined to be up and putting into practice her newly established guide for life. She would serve others, always with an eye to making their lives better—and she would begin with Luke Starns.
* * *
“You seem to be in unusually good spirits this morning,” Lydia said as she nodded her thanks for the breakfast that Greta had set before her.
Greta understood that this was her sister’s way of inquiring about what had happened on the porch after she retired. “Did Luke stay long?” Lydia added.
“I am indeed in good spirits, and no, Luke did not stay long.” Greta took her place across from Lydia. She reached across the table and took Lydia’s hand as both sisters bowed their heads. After a moment Greta released Lydia’s hand and picked up her fork. “After all,” she continued as if there had been no interruption, “it is a beautiful day that we have been given. We must be sure to make the most of it.”
She saw Lydia arch one eyebrow, her skepticism evident in that subtle gesture. “And how do you intend to do that?”
“I will go first to the bakery and work out an order with Pleasant for the breads, rolls and other baked goods we will need for the raising of Luke’s stables and shop. Then I will visit the other women in town to see if I can recommend what to prepare for the men and boys working on the rebuilding.”
“Everyone will simply bring what they can,” Lydia said. “You know that.”
“I do, but so many families have left Celery Fields that there will be fewer sources for the food and baked goods we’ll need. I just want to see if I can persuade the women in town to focus on the basics. That way whatever those living in the outlying areas can bring what they like.”
“You’ve given this quite a lot of thought,” Lydia said.
“I have. It’s taken my mind off...other things. Besides everyone is busy right now and as I mentioned we are shorthanded. Does it not make sense to be more organized under such conditions?”
“It does.” Lydia studied her as if she were looking at a complete stranger. “Did Luke say when the rebuilding might begin?”
“No.” Greta added a note to the list she had begun. “I should ask Roger Hadwell when the lumber and other supplies will be delivered. Of course, in the meantime there is the work of removing the remains from the fire.” She glanced up at Lydia. “Could you let the children—the older ones—out of school early so they might help?”
Lydia set down her coffee cup. “I do not know what has stirred this spirit of goodwill in you, Greta, but I must say that it becomes you.”
Greta could not hide her surprise at receiving such praise from Lydia. More often than not, Lydia was gently chiding her for her tendency to dwell too much on her own small problems when there were others suffering around her.
“It’s high time I stopped feeling sorry for myself and concentrated on others,” Greta announced and then she grinned. “Wouldn’t you say so? Oh, that’s right, you have said so many times.”
Lydia smiled and set aside her napkin as she rose to gather the satchel that held her school supplies. “Let me know when you need the help of the older children and I will excuse them from class,” she said as she headed for the door where she paused. “Well, it would seem that the work may go faster than we had thought, Greta. Luke and Roger are already unloading supplies.”
Greta ran to the door. “Then there’s no time to be wasted,” she announced as she reached for her bonnet. “Come on, Lydia, I’ll walk partway with you and go first to the bakery.”
She was well aware that Luke had paused in the unloading of the beams and other lumber stock to watch as she and Lydia walked down the lane toward town. Halfway along, Lydia took the path to the schoolhouse while Greta continued on her way to her half sister’s bakery. As she passed Luke and Roger, both men nodded briefly in her direction and then turned their attention back to their work.
“Heard you saw Lydia Goodloe home from Sunday’s singing,” Greta heard Roger say as the men transferred the lumber from the wagon and stacked it in a pile near the foundation of Luke’s shop.
She strained to catch Luke’s reply but could only hear a mumbled response—a response that had Roger chuckling.
“Pleasant?” Greta called out as she entered the bakery.
“Back here.”
Greta followed the smells of cinnamon and yeast to the large kitchen where Pleasant prepared the goods that she sold. On one long table were loaves of bread dough rising in their pans. “I am way ahead of you,” Pleasant announced as she wiped her hands on her apron. “I thought we’d start with a dozen loaves and then add to it as necessary.”
“Pies,” Greta began and before she could say more Pleasant pointed to the large wood-burning stove.
“When I saw Roger Hadwell taking in that delivery this morning I knew we would be getting started tomorrow morning once everyone has finished the milking and other chores.”
Greta consulted her list. “I thought I would ask the other women in town for side dishes and casseroles.”
“I could speak with Hilda Yoder and Esther,” Pleasant offered.
Greta sighed. So wo
rd had spread about Josef flirting with Esther at the singing. “No. I’ll do that. How many men do you think will come to help?” She was determined to change the subject, determined to turn Pleasant’s pitying look away.
Pleasant shrugged. “Jeremiah and I were just talking about that last evening. It’s hard to believe how the community has shrunk these last months. And it’s been a while since there’s been any call for raising a new barn or house or shop at all.”
“Maybe some of Luke’s customers from Sarasota will come to help,” Greta said. “He’s built a good business with them.”
“He has at that, but the Englisch have a way of thinking that once they’ve paid for a service there’s no need to do more. I wouldn’t count on that if I were Luke.”
“I didn’t say he was counting on it,” Greta said, knowing she sounded peevish.
“How are things going between Lydia and him?”
“She hasn’t really said.” It wasn’t a lie. Indeed Lydia had told Greta nothing about her conversation and the ride home from the singing with Luke. “I expect he’s going to have other things to think about for a while.”
Pleasant laid a pie pastry over the dish, pressed it into place and crimped the edges, all the while her lips were working with no sound coming out. “What do you think about a match between those two?” she finally asked.
Greta could not have been more surprised at the question. In general Pleasant had always viewed Greta as far too flighty to try and hold a serious conversation with.
“I don’t know,” she replied, trying to gauge Pleasant’s mood. “They are both...”
“Serious to the point of being almost solemn, even grim. I was in a marriage like that before Jeremiah came into my life. I would not wish that for Lydia.”
“You disapprove of Luke Starns?”
“Not at all. He’s... Well, the truth is that he’s far too much like me and like Lydia. Where will they find the laughter and the lightness that is so very very important in a marriage?”
“Luke is nothing like Merle Obermeier,” Greta said softly. Everyone in Celery Fields had been well aware, when Pleasant had married the widower, that the man’s sole purpose had been to find a mother for his four children. He had not loved Pleasant; in fact there were rumors that he had been quite cruel to her before his sudden death left her alone to manage a farm that was deeply in debt and four small children who had now lost both their parents. That’s when Pleasant had returned to the bakery and that’s when Jeremiah Troyer had come into her life.
“No, he is nothing at all like Merle was, but you cannot deny that he has a certain somberness about him, bordering on sadness. Does Lydia even care for the man? I mean in a romantic way of speaking?”
“Surely it’s too soon for either of them to know,” Greta protested, suddenly afraid that Pleasant might make her feelings known to Lydia—and Luke—and disrupt Lydia’s plan for Greta and Luke to become better acquainted. For an instant she considered revealing Lydia’s idea to Pleasant but then thought better of it. The fewer people who knew about it, the easier things would be when it did not work out.
“You mark my words,” Pleasant said, continuing to line pie pans with pastry, “those two will either make each other miserable or they will come to their senses and understand that going their separate ways makes more sense—for both of them.”
“I’m sure Lydia will find her way,” Greta said, always loyal to her elder sister.
“He’s awfully good-looking,” Pleasant mused and then she giggled.
“Why, Pleasant Troyer, wait until I let Jeremiah know that you said such a thing.”
“You didn’t let me finish. Luke is very good-looking in that dark, mysterious way he has, but he can’t hold a candle to Jeremiah. Now there’s one fine-looking man.”
Greta considered the differences between Luke and her half brother-in-law and found that, in her book, there certainly was no contest. Luke Starns won every time. But she wasn’t about to say so to Pleasant. “Have to go,” she said as she headed out and crossed the street to the dry goods store. But not before she glanced over to the hardware store, saw that Luke was nowhere in sight and felt a twinge of disappointment rise in her chest.
Chapter Nine
Over the next several days, Luke spent every hour of daylight clearing away the remains of his destroyed building. Lydia sent the older boys from the school to help him in the afternoons and Greta provided cookies and lemonade. Finally the day came that the framework for the shop, livery and his living quarters would be raised. Luke was awake well before dawn wondering how many men would come to help. How many were left to come? And of those, how many were able-bodied and young enough to manage climbing the scaffolding and straddling the beams as the building took shape?
He stepped out the back entrance to the dry goods store where he’d spent the last couple nights sleeping on a cot. He splashed water over his face and neck. It was going to be a hot day. The haze that hung heavy over the town was a sign that by noon the temperature was likely to be well into the eighties and the humidity would be even higher. He was glad of the wide flat brim of his hat as he set it in place.
As had become his habit he glanced toward the Goodloe sisters’ house. Now that his shop was gone, he had a clear vision of the place from the porch of the dry goods store. He wondered what Greta was doing. The evening before, he and several others in town had helped her and Lydia set up long rows of tables in the Goodloe barn. That’s where the workers would take their meals. He’d been touched by Greta’s assumption that there would be a host of men ready to go to work and in need of sustenance as the rebuilding progressed.
She had that way about her—a way that refused to believe that everything wouldn’t work out for the best. In spite of her near hysteria when Josef Bontrager had broken off with her, Luke had begun to understand that her reaction was less about being heartbroken and more about being embarrassed. Bontrager was sure to show up today and Luke couldn’t help but wonder how Greta would handle that. For that matter he had to consider how he would handle working alongside the man. Bontrager was known for his carpentry skills and he would be a valuable member of the crew. It was going to be important for Luke to set aside his personal feelings toward the man.
He’d taken to having his breakfast—a hard roll and a cup of coffee—at the bakery since the fire. He liked Pleasant Troyer, although her disposition was nothing like her given name. Pleasant was known for stating her mind and most of the time Luke found that refreshing. Unfortunately that was not the case on this particular morning. She seemed determined to ferret out information about his past.
“Quite a difference in weather I’d guess between September here and what you were used to back in Canada.” She set the roll in front of him and slid a dish of orange marmalade across the table.
“We could already have some cold weather by this time of year, that’s certain,” Luke replied as he poured fresh cream into his coffee and stirred it slowly.
“You had a shop back there, as well?”
“It was my Dat’s business.”
“But you left there to come here.” The statement rang with the unasked question: Why?
Luke took the last bite of his roll and licked his fingers. He smiled at Pleasant. “Like you said, the weather. Got to go.” He left coins on the table to pay for the roll and coffee and escaped, but not before he saw the scowl that wrinkled Pleasant’s forehead.
He heard the creak of wagon wheels and the plod of horses and looked up to see several dozen men parking their vehicles along the main street. As they stepped down from their wagons or buggies, they reached for their tools—aprons that held a variety of nails, toolboxes loaded with hammers, saws, tape measures and T squares. They talked in low voices as they gathered in small groups, each group assembling around one man that they had selected as their leader. In one group that leader was Josef Bontrager and Luke was grateful that the man had come to help.
From the opposite end of th
e street came the sound of several motorized vehicles and Luke saw trucks loaded with men—some that he recognized as his Englischer customers from Sarasota— pull up next to the hardware store.
Luke was unexpectedly moved by the arrival of these non-Amish men because he was well aware that many of them had lost their jobs when businesses in Sarasota went under and others were trying to make ends meet by working two jobs at low wages. And yet they had set their own worries aside to come and help him.
Overall there were far too many men to count but Luke would guess there were at least fifty or sixty of them. With this many skilled laborers, they would have a good start on rebuilding his shop by sundown.
“You gonna stand there gawking all day, Starns, or put us to work?” one of the Englischers teased.
Within an hour the work was underway. By sundown the frame of the building would be in place. Greta and the other women had transformed the Goodloe barn into a feast of casseroles, cold cuts, salads, baked goods and cool lemonade. At noon several men took their plates and moved down the line cafeteria-style. Luke couldn’t help but notice how the Englischers were suddenly shy with the women around. “Thank you, ma’am,” they would murmur without looking up or smiling.
The men would eat in shifts so that the work could continue until dark forced them to stop. Luke saw Greta moving among this first shift, refilling their glasses from a large tin pitcher of water, its sides sweating as the ice melted in the noonday heat. He saw that she was coming to the group of Amish men where Josef was sitting and wondered what she would do. Her smile never wavered as she bantered with the men and refilled Josef’s glass. Luke felt such respect for her at that moment. Bontrager barely acknowledged her, maintaining a running conversation with another man until Greta had turned away.