An Unlikely Match

by Beth Wiseman

  Dedication

  To all those who have lost a loved one to Covid-19.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Epilogue

  Discussion Questions

  Acknowledgments

  Glossary

  About the Author

  Acclaim for Beth Wiseman

  Other Books by Beth Wiseman

  Copyright

  One

  Esther stared out the window in disbelief as her heart pounded like a bass drum.

  “Lizzie, what have you done?”

  Two large buses pulled into the driveway, followed by two sleek black cars—limousines, she thought they were called. Esther raised the blinds higher. “You said our guests were Englisch executives from a large produce company who planned to have meetings here.”

  Lizzie scowled. “Ach, well, that’s what I thought they said.” She blew a strand of gray hair away from her face, then tucked it beneath her prayer covering. “That’s what the message on the answering machine said, and when I called the man back, he said they were coming all the way from Los Angeles, California. He asked if we had room for them to park their vehicles, and I told him we have eighty acres. I figured they’d go back and tell their fancy friends what a wonderful gem they’d found hidden here in southern Indiana.”

  Esther took a deep breath and clenched her hands at her waist. “Those Englisch folks aren’t from a produce company, Lizzie.” She turned to her younger sister. “Do you see what is written across the sides of those buses?” She waved toward the window and sighed. “Or motor homes. Whatever they are.”

  Lizzie scrunched up her face and squeezed her eyes closed, then she lifted her chin and looked at Esther. “I must have made a mistake.”

  Esther shook her head. “There is a big difference between produce and production.” She pointed out the window, tapping the glass this time. “Clarkson Movie Productions, Lizzie. You didn’t give them permission to film a movie here, did you?”

  “Of course not! I would have remembered something like that.” Lizzie huffed. “I don’t know what you’re so upset about. They are still paying customers.”

  Esther raised a hand to cover her forehead. “They made reservations for twelve to stay in the main haus. Are we expected to feed all the other people in those buses and cars too? There are bound to be more than twelve, and we only have enough groceries for those staying in the guest rooms.”

  Lizzie turned away, her chin still raised. “I don’t know.”

  Esther began to count as people started getting out of the vehicles. Six stepped out of the first bus—four men and two women dressed in fancy clothes. They huddled in a circle, eyeing the property from behind dark sunglasses. It was a bright sunny day in the middle of April without a cloud in the sky. Five more people emerged from the second bus as still others began pouring out of the black cars.

  Esther glanced at Naomi and Amos, who were standing on the porch of the daadi haus, surely wondering what all the commotion was about. They’d known the inn was expecting a dozen guests, not this crowd. Naomi was like a daughter to Esther and Lizzie. She’d lived and worked at the inn before she and Amos married the previous spring and rented the small house. Gus Owens leased the third house on the property, a small cottage. Esther had seen him leave in his rusty black truck earlier that morning. She was grateful he wasn’t here now. Gus had a disposition that warranted filtering, to say the least. He was a grumpy old man who spoke his mind no matter how rude or obnoxious his comments were.

  “Look.” Esther pointed out the window again. “That man seems to be the one in charge. He’s gathered everyone around him, and he’s doing all the talking.”

  Lizzie was quiet but kept her eyes on the group. Esther stayed by her sister’s side wringing her hands. Should they go outside and greet their new guests or wait until someone approached the house?

  Finally, the man who had been talking pushed his sunglasses up on his head and started toward the front door. He looked middle-aged with dark hair graying at his temples. His slacks were tan, and he wore the same color loafers with a short-sleeved white collared shirt that wasn’t tucked in.

  Esther instructed Lizzie to let her do the talking, then the sisters met the man on the porch.

  “Welcome to The Peony Inn.” Esther nodded and shook his hand when he extended it. The others stayed where they were, talking among themselves while the bus engines roared.

  “Are you who I spoke to on the phone? Lizzie?” He directed the question to Esther, but Lizzie cleared her throat.

  “Nee, that was me.” She tried to smile, but it was brief.

  “We have rooms ready for twelve,” Esther said as she looked over the man’s shoulder. One young man stood off to the side of the group.

  “Yeah, that’s fine. I appreciate you letting us park our RVs here. We were having trouble finding a place to accommodate all of us and the motor homes in one place.”

  Esther swallowed hard. “How many should we plan to cook for? We are a bed-and-breakfast, but we usually cook three meals a day for those who rent a room.” She hoped he understood without her having to say she didn’t have enough food on hand to feed his entire crew.

  The man glanced at his phone when it beeped, then looked back at Esther. “Uh, don’t worry about meals. We’ll have food catered in or have someone pick it up for everyone.”

  Esther’s worries reversed as she thought about all the food she had stocked up, much of it produce that would go bad if not eaten. “The cost of the rooms includes the meals. Perhaps some of your group would like to eat at least part of the time.”

  “We’ll see how it works out. We don’t have a set schedule.” His phone beeped again, gaining his attention for a few seconds before he looked back at her. “Uh, I think there will only be six people staying in the house. We’ve got room in the motor homes for everyone else.”

  Esther thought about all the work she and Lizzie had done to accommodate twelve people, but she nodded.

  “I’ll go get the six staying in the house.” He nodded over his shoulder. “Are those other houses rented?”

  “Ya, one is leased long-term to a gentleman, and the other haus is occupied by a young couple.” Esther didn’t think she’d ever referred to Gus as a gentleman before. She hoped he would stay tucked away for the next month, but all this activity was more than likely going to upset him. And when Gus was disgruntled, there was no telling what he might say or do.

  The man flinched. “We’ll have to run the generators for the motor homes most of the time while they’re parked here. They’re rather loud. I didn’t know there would be other residents close by.” He paused. “By the way, I’m Brandon Clarkson, the producer. I’ll be staying inside, along with my son and four others. I’ll go get everyone staying in the house and introduce you. We have a few who aren’t thrilled about sleeping in a house without air conditioning.” His voice held a tinge of irritation.

  Esther pushed through her worry. About the food overage, the loud generators, and the likelihood that Gus would throw a fit.

  “I’ll be right back with the others.” Mr. Clarkson did an about-face and rejoined his crew.

  Esther glanced
at Lizzie, proud that her sister had pressed her lips together and stayed quiet. “You can speak now.”

  Lizzie stretched her arms stiffly at her sides. “Don’t yell at me. I didn’t know it would be like this.”

  “I don’t ever yell at you.” Esther grinned. “I might scold you when you act like a child, but I don’t yell.” They watched as Mr. Clarkson spoke to the group. “Gus is going to be very unhappy.”

  Lizzie cackled. “Well, now, there’s a silver lining after all.” Esther’s sister avoided Gus whenever she could. Most people did, but Lizzie and Gus fought like five-year-olds, even though they were both in their seventies. In his own disconnected way, Gus was like family. The black sheep, for sure, with a nasty temper and a foul mouth to match. But he’d been good to Esther during a health scare not long ago. Besides, Lizzie and Esther’s mother had made them promise before she died to let Gus live in the cottage for the rest of his life, for reasons she would not share with them.

  Mr. Clarkson walked back up the porch steps with five others in tow. He introduced Esther and Lizzie, then each person individually. “This is Quinn. She’s our art director.” He nodded at the tall slender woman with white hair as short as a man’s. Then he pointed at the two men on either side of her as he spoke their names. “That’s Hal, our director, and Giovanni, our cinematographer.”

  Esther had no idea what any of those titles meant. One of the remaining unidentified men moseyed up to Mr. Clarkson. “And I’m Jesse, the production designer.”

  The younger man who had been off to the side of the group earlier was still lagging behind. Mr. Clarkson gestured over his shoulder without turning around. “And that’s my son, Jayce.”

  The lad nodded when he reached the steps but didn’t say anything. Most of the people Mr. Clarkson had introduced appeared to be in their late thirties and early forties. Jayce was younger—maybe early twenties. His sour expression was a mystery, but when Mr. Clarkson locked eyes with the boy, he just shook his head and frowned at his son.

  He turned back to Esther and Lizzie. “We’ll get our things, and then if you’d be kind enough to show us to our rooms, I know we all have work to do.” He snapped his fingers. “Oh, I know you don’t have Wi-Fi, but can we get cell service inside the house?”

  Several guests had asked Esther about this before, so she was familiar with the lingo. “I’m told only one to two bars,” she said apologetically.

  Mr. Clarkson glanced around at the others. “Everyone just hotspot. It seems a little faster if you only have one or two bars. Do the best you can.”

  “We have lunch planned for twelve if anyone is hungry.” Esther smiled as her stomach churned with worry.

  Quinn stepped forward. “We ate on the road, but how nice of you to offer.” The woman was dressed in a sleek black pantsuit that was belted with a white sash. A long white necklace and matching earrings completed the outfit. With her short white hair, she reminded Esther of a zebra. Her fingernails were pearly white and long, and the spiked white heels made her appear at least five inches taller than she was. Esther couldn’t imagine walking in such footwear.

  They all echoed her response, then headed back to the vehicles to get their luggage. All but one.

  “I’ll eat.” The youngest of the group, Jayce, stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He wore a yellow T-shirt, and the edge of a tattoo showed beneath one of the short sleeves. His dark hair was wild and untamed, landing just above his shoulders. He was handsome and tall with an athletic build, the type Esther thought would be confident, like most English men with such stunning looks. Instead, an air of isolation clung to him, most evident in his dark eyes. This boy had a story. Esther was sure of it. But for now, she was glad at least one person was willing to eat.

  * * *

  Jayce stowed his suitcase in the small room upstairs. It was a far cry from the luxury hotels his father’s crew usually stayed in. But Montgomery, Indiana, didn’t have such accommodations, and this Amish house was big and had room for the motor homes on the property.

  He sat on the bed and gave it a little bounce. Seemed comfortable enough. He pressed down on one of two feather pillows. There was a small desk and chair against one wall, along with a small dresser, and a rocking chair took up one corner of the room. His father probably chose the largest room for himself.

  The only reason Brandon Clarkson was staying in the house was because he and Veronica had recently broken up, and she refused to stay under the same roof as him, motor home or otherwise. After dating for two years, Veronica had finally come to her senses and ditched the old man. Out of all the actors and actresses Jayce had been around over the years, Veronica was the nicest. She wasn’t just talented—she was also kind to everyone she met. Jayce understood how a woman could succumb to his father’s charm, but it never lasted. He eventually showed his true colors.

  Jayce was pretty sure staying inside the inn with no air conditioning was not his father’s first choice.

  He lay back on the bed and flung his arms wide. He liked the quaintness of the room, the smell of freshly cut hay wafting through the window screen on the tail of a cool breeze. But this was going to be the longest month of his life. He’d only agreed to work for his father because he offered Jayce a ridiculous amount of money to basically be a roadie. At the end of the month, he’d have enough money to get his own place and walk away from Brandon Clarkson once and for all.

  That was what his father wanted after all, and it was definitely what Jayce wanted. He didn’t have any idea where he would go, but it would be far away from the hub in Los Angeles. His father thrived on the hustle and bustle. Jayce longed for a life that wasn’t so busy. The price of freedom was enduring each other’s presence for a month.

  Jayce’s father represented everything he didn’t want to be. His dad was greedy, unscrupulous, and had a way of convincing everyone in his life that he was a god to be worshipped. People actually worked hard to earn a place in Brandon Clarkson’s world, a world Jayce had been trying to escape since his mother ran off with another man seven years ago. That had been a hard pill to swallow at fifteen, especially since his mother insisted Jayce stay with his father. His dad had been difficult before the split, but his disposition grew progressively worse after he became a single parent. Jayce didn’t think dear old Dad missed his mom as much as he let on. It was the blow to the man’s ego that bothered his dad most.

  Now Jayce was twenty-two and had given up the party life the Los Angeles elites had to offer. It had been over a year since he’d walked away from that lifestyle. He credited God for guiding him onto a different path—God and a girl named Susan. Unlike Jayce, Susan had been raised going to church. She introduced him to God, and once the acquaintance was made, Jayce knew his relationship with the Lord was going to be lifelong, even after things didn’t work out with Susan.

  His father didn’t credit God for anything, and it was a source of contention between them. Sadly, if Jayce hadn’t run with the wild crowd for so long, he would’ve already had enough money to move out of his father’s condo.

  He’d done a short stint in college, then tried his hand as an entrepreneur, a venture that might have thrived if not for his father’s interference. These days, his jobs came in the form of bartender or waiter.

  He and his father lived together as roommates, tolerating each other. It made Jayce sick to watch the man use people, mostly women. But Brandon Clarkson had made a fortune by taking advantage of plenty of men too. The sad part was that he was a brilliant man. He didn’t need to flaunt his wealth or treat people poorly. His talent alone could have made him into the better man Jayce occasionally caught a glimpse of.

  Jayce thought his father’s movies were successful because they included multidimensional characters, all created with the positive attributes Brandon Clarkson kept hidden from the world. But Jayce had given up on any real relationship with his father a long time ago. And his mother was flitting around the country with a man half her age. Jayce couldn’t
remember the last time he’d heard from her.

  Forcing the gloomy thoughts from his mind, he got up and walked to the window. Eyeing the motor homes and limos from upstairs, he knew half of the occupants were whining about the accommodations. Jayce found this small room in an old farmhouse to be a welcome change. And whatever was cooking downstairs awakened his senses and reminded him how long it had been since he’d had a home-cooked meal.

  The Amish seemed like strange people. They didn’t use electricity, drove around in buggies pulled by horses, and dressed like pioneers. Jayce had Googled the area during the long drive. He was skeptical until he saw his first horse and buggy, and he noticed that the people were dressed like the photos he’d seen online. He found their traditional way of living appealing, in a strange sort of way. Except for one thing. According to what he’d read, they were super religious. Jayce considered himself a man with a strong faith, but organized religion had left a bad taste in his mouth.

  From the aromas wafting up the stairs, the Amish were apparently good cooks, and Jayce was hungry. When they stopped to eat earlier, the meal was cut short as soon as his father finished eating and rushed everyone else to hurry up.

  Jayce made his way downstairs, hoping the food was as good as it smelled.

  A quaint but roomy dining area revealed enough prepared dishes to feed an army. An old grandfather clock chimed just as he walked into the room, and then he was drawn to several paintings on the walls, colorful landscapes with modest wood frames. Some were signed by N. Lantz and others by A. Lantz.

  He refocused on the food and couldn’t believe Quinn and the others were going to pass this up. Surely they could smell the food too. Hungry or not, anyone should have been lured by the heavenly aromas.

  “Wow. That’s a lot of food.” He eyed the offerings as the two older women who had greeted them walked into the room. “Sit anywhere?”

  “Ya, of course.” The woman who had introduced herself as Esther, and who had done most of the talking, stood off to the side with her hands folded in front of her. She was a tall, stocky woman. The other lady—Lizzie—was tiny and hadn’t said much. Now she stood beside her sister watching him.