A Simple Winter: A Seasons of Lancaster Novel

by Rosalind Lauer

  After that, things got a little bit better when she cut him a slice of pie. Sweet potato pie with a creamy texture and buttery crust. He thought her skills as a baker might be some consolation after they were married. They would always eat well.

  “You’ve been awfully quiet,” Annie said, taking the chair adjacent to him and leaning casually close on the table. “I feel like I’m doing all the talking.”

  She was, but Adam didn’t mind. He really had nothing to say to her, beyond the big question.

  He swallowed a bit of pie and cleared his throat. “Annie. I came tonight because I have something to ask you.”

  Her cherry lips curled in a smile, encouraging him.

  “The thing is, you know there are eleven of us. Mary and Jonah are very responsible and, well, you know Mary’s plans. It’s a big responsibility, but the children need a woman in the house and …”

  The sour expression on her face cut him off. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Adam King, are you asking me to marry you or bringing me in as a housekeeper?”

  Both, he thought as he choked on a piece of crust. He grabbed a slug of water and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “I can’t believe you would ask me that now, and in that way.” Astonishment shone in Annie’s blue eyes as she shook her head. “Let me ask you a question, and you must be honest with me. Do you favor me at all?”

  He took a sip of water, swallowed hard. Anything to stall.

  Her jaw dropped. “You don’t! Why, I could just turn this pie over in your lap.”

  “Please don’t. It’s delicious and … really, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “Offend me? Here I’ve been mooning for you all these years, thinking you might one day come around and start courting me, give us a chance to get to know each other.”

  He put his fork down. “And … here I am.”

  “Asking me to marry you, out of the blue.” She sighed. “Two people need time to get to know each other and fall in love. Don’t you know anything?”

  Apparently he did not. He had never been very good at the gaming part of courtship.

  “Not to mention that everyone knows you lost your heart to that Englisher woman who was living here. The one wearing Mary’s Amish dresses.” She put her hands up. “Don’t deny it! Emma Lapp saw her at the market, twice, and you know it must be obvious if the schoolteacher can see what’s going on.”

  “Remy is gone.” He winced, just pronouncing her name. “She’s living in Philadelphia now.”

  “But you’re still pining away.” She took the empty pie plate away and shuffled over to the sink. “I don’t understand you, Adam. A few months ago I would have been thrilled to hear this proposal. But now …” She shook her head. “It’s all verhuddelt. I might have tried courting for a while, but now even that seems awkward.”

  Adam looked over at her with a new respect. Annie had a strong sense of who she was and what she wanted. “I appreciate your honesty.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “Even though I turned you down?”

  “Especially because you turned me down.” He smiled. “I don’t think we’re very well suited for each other, anyway.”

  “Ya, but you don’t have to be so happy about it.”

  He grabbed his hat from the hook, and she opened the door for him.

  “Good night, Adam. Go find your true bride. I’m tired and I’ve got a lot of singings in my future if I’m ever to meet the man the Heavenly Father intends me to marry.”

  “Denki, Annie.” As the door closed behind him, Adam breathed a deep, cold breath of relief. He still needed to find a mother for the children, but somehow he felt as if he’d narrowly escaped a landslide.

  FORTY-FOUR

  emy stood at the window of Herb’s office, looking out on the city of Philadelphia through a pair of opera glasses she’d found on his shelf. Behind her, Herb was going on about a trade show in Las Vegas that he wanted her to attend, but the details floated by her as she viewed the city through the high-powered binoculars.

  Sometimes it’s good to change your perspective, she thought. Adjusting the focus, she wondered how Leah’s bird-watching was going with the little gift Remy had passed on.

  Time hadn’t done much to heal her wounds. She wondered if Sadie had returned to her job and her boyfriend at the hotel. Was Susie keeping to her special diet, and what new words was Katie saying? And Simon … had his night terrors faded now that Chris Mueller had confessed to the killings? Dear, sensitive Simon. How she missed seeing him. And Ruthie with her penchant for the truth; Gabe, with his passion to do the right thing; and Mary and the little ones and …

  She missed them, every single one.

  In the two weeks since she’d been wrenched from the family, the news services had covered the recent developments in the King murders. Christopher Mueller had pled guilty at arraignment and was currently awaiting sentencing for the crimes. Two or three lines of copy, and the story was over for most people. But Remy knew there was so much more to it: striations of layers, personalities and hopes and dreams.

  “What happened?” Sadie had asked her on the phone, alarm etched in her voice. “What happened to you and Adam?”

  “It’s complicated,” Remy had said, unable to face the fact that her lie had been the thing that started this faulty tower tumbling down.

  Should she have told Adam earlier? Should she have emphasized that she’d given up on the story? And why did a small detail like that matter so much? Couldn’t he see that their love was bigger than all the twists and turns of their lives before they came together?

  Voicing any of these doubts on the phone would only have drawn Sadie into the situation, and the last thing Remy wanted was to shape a story that pointed any blame at Adam.

  “You know I’ll always be your friend,” Sadie had promised. “I’ll come visit you in Philadelphia.”

  “You are welcome any time,” Remy had assured her, though she imagined that a visit from Sadie would only earn her more disapproval from Adam, who saw Sadie’s experimentation in the real world as a measure of his own failure to lead her down the Plain path.

  As Herb yammered on the phone behind her, she lifted her heavy hair, twirled it into a twist, and stuck a pencil there to keep it in place. She missed her prayer kapp, missed the connection to God that it symbolized. But she had learned to pray without it. Every day, she prayed for forgiveness.

  She’d tossed the topic around with Nancy, who had put Remy up for the night after Adam had made it clear that Remy was not welcome back at the farm. While she had helped Nancy stir up granola recipes, Nancy had offered tea and sympathy.

  “The Amish are big on forgiveness,” Nancy had said. “He’ll forgive you, eventually.”

  “But he won’t forget.” Remy knew that. Adam would never let her in his home or heart again.

  “Forgiveness is like a three-pronged fork. There’s forgiveness from the person you wronged. Forgiveness from God. And then, you’ve got to forgive yourself.”

  “I’m not sure I can do that.”

  “You can, but you have to work on it. Put some spiritual muscle into it.”

  “I’ve got no muscle left, spiritual or otherwise.” Hot with regret and grief, Remy rested her head on the cool granite counter and burst into tears.

  “You got it bad, kid. Reminds me a little of myself, umpteen years ago.”

  Nancy talked about how she’d almost missed out on spending her life with her Ira, all because of a “ridiculous” misunderstanding. “But we worked it out. Had forty-one wonderful years together. Retired in Halfway because we liked the people here, and started making muesli bars for a kick.”

  Four years later, her Ira was gone and she could not produce enough bars to keep up with demand.

  “Do you miss your husband?” Remy had asked.

  “Every day. That man was the love of my life. You never get over someone that special.”

  Remy understood that now. She had foun
d the love of her life, and it had lasted but a few heartbeats.

  Keeping her word to Adam, she had not written about the King family. The fabric of Amish life had become the basis of her story for the Post. A story they still had not run, though Arlene and Miles had given it a thumbs-up.

  “What are you doing, playing mannequin?” Herb barked, interrupting her thoughts. “I just got off with Menkowitz, who’s looking forward to seeing you at the convention in Las Vegas. That’s right; Vegas, baby!” Herb laughed. “You are going to love that town, and this convention is a great place to start you as the new face of this enterprise with the Menkowitzes. Our new director of public relations.”

  “Dad, I keep telling you, I’m not interested in a corporate job.” She scanned the glass façade of a high-rise building in Center City, landing on a woman at her desk, working at a computer. A lonely scene.

  “Remy, I need you in this venture. It’s time to step up and follow in your old man’s footsteps.”

  “Would you listen to me?” She lowered the opera glasses and swung toward him. “I’ve spent all this time in editorial to work my way up. I’ve written a piece I’m really proud of, and … I don’t know, it seems like a start. Did Arlene show it to you?”

  He waved off the question. “What do you care about editorial? Any English major can do that job.”

  “Thanks for the show of support.” Turning the opera glasses in her hands, Remy thought of her article and the eye-opening experience she’d had getting the story. Somehow that amounted to more than anything she could ever write. Was that why her daily job seemed lackluster now?

  “My point is, your talents are being wasted there, and I need you in PR. Are you going to fester in a dead-end job or reach for the golden ring?”

  “You know, I’d better go or I’ll be late for the editorial meeting.” She turned to leave.

  “This is a great opportunity,” he barked. “Pure gold! The golden ring.”

  “Gold is overvalued,” she called over her shoulder as she headed for her meeting.

  “Does anyone have anything else?” Miles asked in an attempt to wrap up the meeting.

  “I do.” Remy lifted her hand. “I was wondering when you’re going to run my Amish story. It’s been copyedited and proofread, and …” She noticed Arlene was uncharacteristically staring down at her notes. “What’s the schedule?”

  Miles’s face puckered in concern. “Arlene and I both liked that story, but, unfortunately, it’s not a go for us. I’m sorry, Remy.”

  Disappointment peeled at the edges of her composure. “Do you need some revisions?”

  “That’s not it.” Miles hesitated. “We just—”

  “It’s out of our hands.” Arlene removed her glasses and met Remy’s gaze. “We got a veto from above.”

  “Above?” Remy squinted. “But you’re the editor in chief. Who …?”

  “Herb McCallister killed it. Wouldn’t sign off on it.” Arlene’s mouth curled with disdain. “Talk to him about it and see if he’ll soften. We can’t publish it without his okay.”

  As the meeting broke up Remy remained in her chair, crestfallen. How could Herb do this to her? A power play from her own father.

  Beside her, Yasmina squeezed her shoulder encouragingly. “What are you going to do?”

  “If I know Herb, he’s got some trick up his sleeve.” She rose, determined to maintain her composure with her colleagues watching. “I’m going to straighten this out.”

  She strode down the hall, the carpeting in the executive corridor mushy under her feet. It was all so pompous and fake, the posturing and decoration. Remy yearned for something real—a blade of grass, a chunk of sky.

  “He’s on the phone,” Viola said, but Remy stormed past her desk and pushed into the office.

  “Why did you kill my story?”

  He turned to her, his mouth still moving, finger to the earpiece of his phone.

  “Dad, I asked you a question.”

  “And I’m on the phone here, can’t you see that? Hold on a second.”

  “No, I’m not holding on. I’ve been waiting for years, Herb. I keep waiting but you’re never really here for me.”

  He let out a groan. “I’ll call you right back,” he said, then tossed the earpiece on the desk. “Okay, you got me. Here I am.”

  “I just want an answer. Why did you nix my story?”

  “Because I’m sick of hearing about the Amish. Enough with the Plain People obsession. You’ve got other things that require your attention now. Namely, the PR job. The convention. Vegas.”

  “Oh, Dad. If you were worried about an obsession, why didn’t you talk to me? What you did was hurtful.”

  “But it got your attention, right? Am I right?”

  “Not in a good way.”

  “Okay, here’s the deal. If you want your story to run, I can do that, but I need something in return. Step up and take the PR job.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to believe that her own father could be so manipulative. Striving for composure, she took a deep breath and focused on the high-rise building across the way.

  Those squares of light were like the office she’d peered into earlier.

  Desk cubbies full of lonely people and stale, static air.

  “It’s time to grow some backbone, Remy,” Herb prodded.

  “You’re right,” she said. “You’re absolutely right. I’ve been so spineless when it comes to you, Herb.” She met her father’s moss green eyes. Empty eyes, really.

  “Forget the story,” she said. “I’m taking it to the Herald.”

  “You can’t do that!” he yelled.

  “It’s too late. I’m done here. I quit.” She turned toward the door.

  “Oh, really? Then I quit paying for your doorman apartment. How would you like that?”

  His jab hurt at first, but then, a moment later, it all became clear. She had no life here. Her apartment and her job had become traps … traps that she needed to free herself from.

  By cutting her off, Herb was actually liberating her.

  “Thank you,” she said aloud.

  “What?” Herb snapped from behind her.

  She paused, wheeled on her father. “Thanks. I’ve never felt so free. I’ll start packing my things.”

  He sneered. “You can’t get off that easy. I know you, Remy. You’ll never make it on your own.”

  Watch me. She walked away, the air around her popping with energy. Just watch me.

  “And then I walked out … just like that.” Speaking on her cell phone from an overstuffed chair in a downtown bookstore, Remy gave Dakota the high points of her day.

  “Honey, I am so proud of you.” Dakota’s voice, which sounded grainy as usual, reassured her. “You cut the ties that were strangling you, and that had to be doubly hard with your father being boss man.”

  “I just couldn’t take it anymore. Yeah, Herb’s a pain in the neck but he was just the last straw. I realized that nothing was going to make me happy there. I felt like an invisible person.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I showed up for work every day, but no one really saw me. And despite all the time I was away in Lancaster County, it didn’t seem to matter that I was gone.”

  “Ouch. Did you always feel that way at the Post?”

  “Always.” But not in Halfway. There, she had mattered.

  “So … what’s next? Do you want to hop on a train and hang here for a few days?”

  “Don’t be mad.” Remy turned toward the window of the big bookstore. It was the middle of the day, but sunlight couldn’t reach between the buildings. “But I want to go back to Halfway.”

  “Why would I be mad at that? And … well, what would you do there?”

  “For starters, I’d like to meet with one of the ministers from Adam’s congregation. Sadie said she would go with me for support.”

  “You’re serious about this Amish thing?” Dakota’s voice held the weight of their years of friend
ship. “Even without Adam?”

  Remy sighed. “Even without him. But I need to know more. Meeting with a preacher is a way to start. There’s also the matter of getting to know the rest of the Amish community. As you pointed out when we last spoke, I spent nearly two weeks with the Kings, but I don’t know much about the rest of the community. I need to see if it’s a good fit for me. Maybe I can get a job in one of Halfway’s shops.”

  “I think that’s a good plan. Just promise me you won’t go getting baptized without letting me know first. Even by snail mail?”

  Remy laughed. “Relax. The baptism ceremony isn’t until next autumn. We’ll talk lots before then.”

  “Just saying … I’m not going to lose you, honey. Share you, yes, but you need to stay in touch.” After a pause, Dakota added, “So … what if you run into Adam while you’re in Halfway?”

  “I can always hope for the best. I still think of him all the time.”

  “Of course you do. You fell in love with that guy, and I know you won’t stalk him or anything, but I can tell you haven’t given up completely.”

  “I fell in love with Adam and his whole world,” Remy said. “Now I have to see if the attraction is real. I can’t make this commitment without being one hundred percent sure of it.”

  “Then go for it, honey,” Dakota said. “Give it all you’ve got.”

  The next day, Remy found a toll-free number for Nancy’s Nutty Muesli Bars online. As she pressed the button to speak to a real person, she paced through her apartment, wondering if she would miss this place. Funny, but she hadn’t given it a second thought when she was snowbound in Halfway. The music on the line ended, and an older woman’s voice said: “This is Nancy Briggs. What can I do you for?”

  “Nancy, it’s Remy McCallister.” As Nancy was never one to mince words, Remy cut right to the chase. “You said you needed some help with production, and it looks like I’m in need of a job.”

  “Let me think about that. I know you’re a hard worker. Any experience in the snack food industry?”

  “Well, I did help you mix up that batch of muesli. I love to bake, and I would work for cheap. Room and board, until I can prove my worth—”