I sighed. “I’m going to go in there.”
“With the rabbits?” Emma asked. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“Why not?” I asked with one leg suspended in the air about to step over the three-feet-high fence.
She shrugged. “You’ll find out.”
I frowned. Maybe Emma had some of the twins’ mischief streak. I stepped over the low fence into the pen.
Soundlessly, the bunnies charged and bounced off my dusty jeans and cowboy boots.
I stumbled back. “Hey. Cut that out!”
They regrouped and charged again. It was like a white, tan, and gray wave of fluff. One bunny sank her teeth into the pant leg of my jeans. “Hey. Who are you? Bunnicula?”
I leaned over and picked up the tiny rabbit, which fit in the palm of my hand. He kicked his powerful back legs, and his long nails scraped the skin on the heel of my hand. I held the kicking bunny over the fence to Emma. “Will you hold this one?”
“No way. He’s a biter. Rabbit bites hurt.”
Bunnicula tried to contort his body so he could get another piece of me with his razor-sharp bunny teeth. Emma was right.
A cat carrier sat in the corner of the pen. The door was open, and hay lay inside of it. Clearly this was the bunnies’ shelter from the weather. I placed Bunnicula in the crate and closed it. Oliver and the other rabbits watched me with interest.
“Oliver, come.”
Again he didn’t move. He liked the bunny ring. It was good to know that he wasn’t afraid of rabbits, or at least not baby rabbits. That was something to cross off his neurosis list.
I glanced over at Emma. The serious girl was smiling. She frowned when she caught me looking.
Now what did I do? I was afraid to walk over to Oliver, who hadn’t moved an inch, because I might step on the bunnies. “Oliver, come here.”
He covered his nose with his forepaw.
The bunnies charged again. This was ridiculous.
Ezra and Ethan appeared from around the side of the poultry tent. Apparently, Jonah and Anna hadn’t been successful in tracking them down. When they saw the bunnies bouncing off my legs, they fell into the grass in a fit of giggles.
I glowered at them. “Can you two help me out instead of rolling in the leaves?”
They scrambled to their feet. “What do you want us to do?” Ezra asked. Or was it Ethan who asked? I could never tell the two apart.
“Distract the bunnies so I can grab Oliver. They’re so small, I’m afraid I might step on one of them.”
The boys’ eyes twinkled as they hopped over the fence. Immediately, the bunnies did an about-face and charged the new intruders. Who needed a guard dog when there were baby rabbits around?
I gingerly stepped across the pen and put my hands on my hips as I glowered at Oliver. He still had his paw over his face. “Oliver.”
He dropped his paw and toddled toward me. I picked up the Frenchie. “Are you okay?”
He gave me his best “poor me” expression.
I stepped over the fence. “Maybe bringing you to the auction was a mistake.”
He licked my face.
Ethan waved his arms. “Angie, aren’t you going to help us get away from the bunnies?” A bunny hung by her teeth from the cuff of his trousers. Those would need mending.
“If you can let Petunia out of her pen, you can find your way out of a bunny yard.”
“You’re going to leave us here?” Ezra squeaked. A bunny gnawed on his black shoelace.
I nodded. “Yes, yes, I am.” I walked to the merchants’ tent. The boys’ protests followed me all the way.
Emma ran up along beside of me. “That was so funny. Ethan and Ezra aren’t used to being left behind.”
I bit my lip. “Maybe I should go back and help them get away from Bunnicula’s brood.”
“Bunnicula?” she tested the word.
I didn’t bother to explain the story of the vampire bunny. Jonah’s conservative wife would frown on it, and I was already on her blacklist as it was. “Should I go back?” I asked.
“Nee. The boys will be fine. They were only teasing you when they said they didn’t know how to get out of there.” She skipped away much happier than I had ever seen her. It must be tough being the twins’ older sister.
Outside of the tent, I set Oliver on the ground and removed his leash from my pocket and clipped it on him. He gave me his best pitiful face again. Oliver did not like being on a leash unless we were on a walk.
“It’s the best way for me to keep track of you,” I said.
Inside the merchants’ tent, Mattie Miller, my quilt shop assistant, straightened a pinwheel-patterned quilt on the quilt rack. Actually, she was making it more crooked as her mind was elsewhere. Her attention was on the Miller Amish Bakery table across the aisle, catty-corner to our tables.
In front of the bakery’s long folding table, Wanda Hunt, a heavyset English woman and Rolling Brook township trustee, shook her thick index finger at Mattie’s sister-in-law and my closest friend since moving back to Ohio, Rachel Miller. Rachel was eight years younger than I am but already the mother of three boys. Wanda’s sequin-encrusted pantsuit stood in stark contrast to petite Rachel’s plain blue dress and white apron. “You need to talk some sense into your husband. His plan threatens the integrity of the township.”
The integrity of the township? That sounded bad.
Rachel smiled at Wanda, but her typically smooth forehead puckered. At the far end of Rachel’s table, an English shopper frowned at the conversation and set the blueberry fry pie she’d selected back on Rachel’s table before walking away.
Oliver crawled under the quilt shop’s table. He’d had his fill of excitement for the morning. With my dog hiding and Mattie looking as if she may faint dead away just from witnessing a disagreement, any intervention was up to me.
I brushed more dirt off of my sleeve and stepped across the aisle. “What’s going on?”
“I’m glad you are here, Angie.” Wanda’s mouth fell open. “What happened to you? You’re covered in dust.”
“I had a run-in with a goat,” I said, hoping Wanda would leave it at that.
She sniffed. “How unfortunate.”
She was telling me.
Wanda pursed her lips. “Can you please talk some sense into Rachel? She seems to think her husband has every right to open a factory on Sugartree Street.” She said factory like she uttered a swear word she wasn’t completely comfortable saying.
I stared at her. “Why would I do that?”
She huffed. “Be-because it’s a terrible idea.”
“Why?”
Wanda threw up her hands, and several sequins went flying. “It will ruin the integrity of the township.”
“You already said that once, but what does it mean?”
“Rolling Brook is an Amish town and needs to keep a certain look to attract visitors. An ugly factory will ruin the look.” She straightened. “It will make a mess. There will be delivery trucks going through town. There will be noise.”
I stepped back to avoid any more flying sequins. “Aaron cares about the town. He wouldn’t let his business hurt it. You should be happy about this. Think of all the tax revenue it will bring Rolling Brook.”
Wanda’s collection of rings caught the sunlight pouring in from the open end of the tent as she placed her hands on her hips. “I can’t believe you’re taking their side about this.”
“The Millers are my friends; of course I would take their side. Besides, your argument doesn’t make sense to me. When I first moved here, the trustees were all upset the Amish didn’t want to have an English festival in town. Now you are upset because Rolling Brook isn’t Amish enough?”
“That situation was completely different. The Watermelon Fest was a strategy to bring more tourists to Rolling Brook. The Amish should have seen that. It was a onetime thing. Tourists are attracted to Rolling Brook because it’s an Amish town and has an Amish look to it. A factory pumping
black smoke out of its chimneys at the end of the street will ruin that.”
I rolled my eyes. “Wanda, it’s a pie bakery not a nuclear power plant.”
“A what?” Rachel asked.
I shook my head slightly.
Wanda wouldn’t budge. “When tourists visit Rolling Brook, they want a peaceful and quiet place to recharge and enjoy. They don’t want anything that reminds them of their city lives. A factory will.” She folded her arms, and the glittery bangles on her wrist clanked together. “Angie, I would think you would be on the trustees’ side. This factory will impact your business at Running Stitch too. The tourists will stay away and seek more authentic Amish towns in Holmes County to buy their quilts and notions.”
Rachel frowned. “My husband’s pie factory would not do any of that. He would never do anything that would hurt the township like that.”
I smiled at her and was happy to see her standing up for herself for once. I knew that was difficult for her to do. It was not the Amish way for a wife to fight her husband’s battles.
Wanda snorted as if Rachel’s words had no bearing. “Anyway, a factory, ugly or otherwise, will ruin everything for the township. How can we compete with Charm and Berlin when we have a factory at the end of the street? Your loyalty to your friends is admirable, but you need to think about your business, Angie.”
I wasn’t buying her argument. “Lots of tourists visit Amish Country for the pies and other pastries. It may actually attract more visitors. You need to see it as an asset.”
Wanda dismissed my comment with a wave. “You haven’t been here long enough to know what the tourists want. I won’t hold your naïveté against you when I report back to the trustees.”
I gritted my teeth. “Aaron has a right to grow his business even if it is on Sugartree Street as much as any of the Amish and non-Amish shopkeepers do. I don’t see you complaining to Willow Moon about the Dutchman’s Tea Shop in the middle of town. It’s not exactly Amish.”
Wanda frowned. “We have worked extremely hard to make Rolling Brook have a particular appearance. A factory of any kind at the end of Sugartree Street will destroy that. Mark my words.”
I snorted. “That’s ridiculous.”
From the expression on Wanda’s face, clearly I said the wrong thing. “There are plenty of other places in Rolling Brook where he could build the factory, places where the tourists don’t go.”
“He wants to give factory tours. Many of the cheese factories do that,” Rachel said.
Wanda scowled. “I see we’re not going to come to an agreement with this. Your family leaves me no choice. I will have to ask Head Trustee Jung to enforce our zoning and building ordinances. I really didn’t want it to come to this, Rachel, but Aaron has brought this on your family.”
I folded my arms. “What zoning ordinances?”
Wanda’s expression was smug. “There are township ordinances that must be followed and enforced. The factory your husband plans does not meet them.”
“What are they?” I persisted.
“There are ordinances that limit the size of the structure and the number of employees a business can have. It’s all spelled out in the ordinance. I’m sure Trustee Jung will give Aaron a copy when he visits the bakery today.”
“How did I not know about this?” My temper flared. “I have a business in Rolling Brook too.”
“Oh, Angie, your tiny quilt shop is nowhere near being in violation.”
Rachel twisted the edge of her apron in her hands. “What do you mean by today? You said that Trustee Jung would visit the bakery today.”
“I asked Trustee Jung to give me one more chance to talk you into changing your mind. It would be much easier if that happened than have the unpleasantness of delivering cease and desist papers to your door.”
“You can’t do that,” Rachel said. “We have already bought the land. We can’t sell it back to the owner.”
“Maybe your husband should have checked with us about any potential problems before he opened his wallet. That would have been wise.”
Aaron didn’t submit his plans for the factory approval before he bought the land? Why not? I wondered.
I threw up my hands. “Wanda, this is ridiculous. The Millers have been in Rolling Brook for generations. You’ve never had trouble with them in the past.”
She dropped her arms. “There is a first time for everything.”
Rachel closed her eyes as if to collect herself. “I’m sorry you feel this way, Wanda, but my husband must do what he thinks is best. It is not my place to tell him what is right or wrong.”
Wanda glared at her. “That doesn’t sound like much of a marriage to me.”
Rachel winced.
“Wanda, that’s a little harsh,” I said.
Rachel picked up one of the blueberry fry pies from her table. “Here, Wanda, please take this and enjoy the auction today.”
Wanda frowned at the pie. “Are there any nuts in it?”
“Oh, no. Nothing we are selling today has nuts.” Rachel pointed at the small handwritten sign on her table. NUT-FREE PIES AND PASTRIES.
Wanda took it from Rachel’s small hand. She shook it at Rachel. “This doesn’t change anything.”
“I don’t expect it to,” Rachel whispered to Wanda’s retreating back.
Tears stood in Rachel’s eyes. “Angie, can she do that? Can she stop Aaron from opening the pie factory?”
I frowned. “Probably.” I watched as Wanda wove through the line of English tourists entering the merchants’ tent. She gripped Rachel’s fry pie firmly in her hand.
Chapter Three
Rachel took in a shuddering breath. “I’m afraid you’re right.”
I gave her a small smile. “I wonder why Wanda’s talking to you instead of Aaron.”
Rachel began straightening her cookies and treats on the tabletop. “She already tried to speak to Aaron. More than once. Aaron refuses to see her or anyone else from the board of trustees.” She pushed a stray crumb off of the tablecloth with her index finger. “I do wish my husband had talked to the trustees before he purchased the land. What if we can’t build the factory there? We will be ruined.”
I reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “Rachel, why didn’t Aaron look into the building codes before he bought the land? Didn’t he think the township would have rules for new construction?”
Rachel didn’t answer. “Buying the land was a rash decision and not characteristic of my husband. More often he takes his time before acting, but the Realtor told him if he waited an Englisch developer would buy the land. Aaron had to make his decision at a moment’s notice.” She folded her hands in front of her. “He told me after Wanda started to complain about the factory, he never thought the trustees would be so strict. He thought that they would thank him for keeping the land on Sugartree Street out of an Englisch developer’s hands. He was wrong. Angie, I am afraid about what will happen to us.” She forced a smile. “I know it’s wrong to be afraid. Gott will provide for us. He always has in the past.”
I couldn’t help but admire Rachel’s faith. I certainly could use some when it came to my own life. “Did you share any of your worries with Aaron?” I asked.
“I started to, but he reminded me it is not my place to question him. He is the head of the family. He is right.” She blushed. “I shouldn’t have asked him. I need to put my trust in Gott and my husband.”
As much as I respected Rachel’s faith, I wished too that Aaron had taken the time to talk to the township trustees before he bought the property. I knew the land was expensive. Out of curiosity, I had inquired about it myself. Not because I had planned to buy it. A few hundred thousand was cheap by Dallas standards, but in Rolling Brook, it cost the Millers a fortune.
Mattie joined us at Rachel’s table. “What is wrong, Rachel?”
Rachel turned a pie plate on the tabletop. “It is nothing.”
Mattie’s face fell. I knew she wished Rachel would confide in her like
she did in me, but Aaron was Mattie’s brother. Rachel would never say anything critical of her husband to his younger sister.
Rachel’s face turned concerned. “Angie, you are covered in dirt. Here I am talking away and you’re a mess.”
I shot her a crooked smile. “Thanks. That’s what I get for wrestling a goat.”
“What happened?” Mattie asked.
“The Graber twins,” I said.
Both women said, “Ahh.” There really wasn’t any more explanation needed. Everyone in Rolling Brook knew about the twins and their wily ways.
Rachel blushed. “You don’t look too awful.”
“I was only teasing you, Rachel.” I glanced down at my corduroy jacket and jeans. That was a mistake.
Rachel bent over and looked under her table. When she came back up she held a tea towel and a bottle of water. She poured a little bit of water on the towel. “A damp cloth should get most of the dust off, Angie.”
I accepted the cloth. “I’d better do this outside of the tent. I don’t want to get any dirt on my quilts or your pies. Mattie, can you watch our table while I’m gone?”
The young Amish woman’s face held its hurt expression from Rachel’s exclusion. “Ya.”
Across the aisle an English woman admired a Rolling Brook quilt. I elbowed Mattie and raised my eyebrows. “We have a live one,” I whispered. Mattie hurried over to her.
“Rachel, are you going to be okay?” I asked in a low voice.
“Ya, I will be fine. I shouldn’t worry so much. Gott will sort it out. Danki, Angie.”
Outside the large white canvas tent, I did my best to wipe the dust and dirt from my clothes while I worried about the Millers. Rachel claimed God would sort it out and I was thankful she believed that. I, on the other hand, was far less sure. If the township zoned to ban factories from Sugartree Street, the heart and historic downtown area of Rolling Brook, Aaron Miller’s pie factory was truly doomed.
I dumped a small collection of dirt from my jacket pocket and wondered how it had gotten there. As far as cleaning off my clothing, the only thing I accomplished in doing was making Rachel’s tea towel as dirty as I was. I shrugged, it couldn’t be helped. I didn’t have time to go home and change before my quilts were called onto the auction block. I wasn’t going to miss that. It was the entire reason I was there.
Murder, Simply Stitched: An Amish Quilt Shop Mystery Page 2