The Amish Bride

by Mindy Starns Clark

  The smell of freshly baked bread and rosemary greeted me as I stepped inside. Everything was clean, though I could see immediately that the walls needed to be repainted and the seats of some of the gray vinyl chairs, pushed up against gray faux-marble tables, had little tears. There was a small glass case filled with pastries, sticky buns, and loaves of bread.

  I heard voices coming from the kitchen. I recognized both of them.

  “Can you bring Millie to help tomorrow?” Rosalee asked.

  Luke said, “If you don’t mind if Eddie comes with her. Mamm hasn’t been feeling well again.”

  Rosalee didn’t answer.

  I stopped at the counter, unsure if I should continue.

  Luke laughed. “So, is it worth it for Millie to come?”

  “Has Eddie calmed down any?”

  I couldn’t make out his response, but I could hear the chorus of their laughter that followed. Though they had been nearly silent with me, neither one of them seemed shy talking with the other.

  I took the opportunity to step past the counter and into the kitchen. “What can I do?” I asked.

  Rosalee nodded toward the sink. “Wash up and then you can help us bag this bread.”

  They were both standing at a stainless steel table, slipping loaves into plastic bags, their hands in latex gloves. I stepped over to the sink and began scrubbing. The kitchen was much smaller than the one at the restaurant. There was a gas stove with two big ovens and an industrial-sized mixer, which to my relief was plugged into an outlet in the wall, meaning I’d be able to charge my phone here.

  On the other side of the room was a rack with trays of rolls, pies, and pastries. At the far end were two closed doors, one with a “Restroom” sign on it.

  “Did this used to be a house?” I dried my hands and slipped on gloves from a box by the sink.

  “Ya,” Rosalee answered. “It was the daadi haus. My grandparents lived here while I was growing up. We turned it into a bakery a year ago.”

  The other door probably led to what had at one time been the bedroom. This was where Rosalee came for her grandmother’s remedies. I took a deep breath. Sarah had lived both here and at the Home Place.

  Rosalee explained that one of the long-term goals for the bakery was to get orders to area stores, and this was their first one. The labels on the bags read “Amish Bread from Plain Treats, Nappanee, Indiana.” Then there was a list of ingredients and the address in small print.

  “You have a nice place here,” I said. “The bakery. The house. All of it.”

  Rosalee didn’t answer, and Luke kept his head down.

  Feeling awkward that neither had responded, I rushed on. “How do you keep up with everything?”

  “We manage,” Rosalee said, glancing at Luke. “Although, Luke has had to spend more time at his daed’s dairy again. That’s why we need you.”

  I blushed. It sounded as though Ezra having to go home had affected her too.

  Wanting to change the subject, I asked if she got much business out this far.

  “A little more each month,” Rosalee answered. And then she changed the subject. “I understand you’re interested in going to baking school.”

  I shrugged, not looking up as I slipped a loaf into a bag. I didn’t want to talk about my desire to go to school. I was certain she’d have the same response as Aunt Klara and Nancy did back home, that it was foolish to take classes on something I should be learning at home.

  “What’s your schedule out here?”

  “I get started at four thirty,” she said. “Luke helps when he can, some in the bakery but mostly on the farm.” She twisted a bag shut.

  “Why aren’t you open today?”

  “I was. Until we came and got you,” she said matter-of-factly.

  Luke began placing the bread back on the racks, and just as we were completing the work, a deliveryman arrived. Rosalee counted the loaves of bread with him and then signed a form. We followed him out to his panel truck.

  “Where’s the bread going?” I asked as the driver put the trays in the back.

  “Indianapolis,” Rosalee answered. “It will be on store shelves by morning.”

  All three of us watched the truck turn toward the road, and then I followed her back up to the house, while Luke headed to the barn.

  “I’m going to sit for a spell and then start dinner,” she said when we reached the kitchen.

  “I’ll help.”

  “Give me a few minutes,” she said, her brow creased under her kapp. “I need a little time to just be.”

  I shuffled down the hall, back into my room, wondering if I was an imposition. No matter. Rosalee wouldn’t have to put up with me for long. And I intended to more than pull my own weight while I was here.

  As I entered my room, I heard voices outside the window. I peeked through the gauzy curtain to see Luke standing a few yards away. I couldn’t see Rosalee, but I could hear her voice. “Ya. Clean the coop. We can worry about the garden tomorrow.”

  I wiped my hands on my apron. Cleaning the coop was something I could help with and not be in Rosalee’s way while she made dinner—as long as she had a pair of boots I could wear.

  I stepped into the kitchen quietly. She was sitting at the table again, her head bowed. I wasn’t sure if she was dozing or praying.

  “I can help Luke,” I said.

  She opened her eyes but didn’t look at me.

  I quickly explained I didn’t have any boots.

  “There’s a pair in the mudroom,” she said, looking at my feet. “They should fit.”

  When I arrived in the doorway of the coop, Luke nodded his head and pointed to an extra shovel by the wheelbarrow as if he’d been expecting me. But after we’d worked for at least half an hour in silence—except for the five times I’d tried to get a conversation going—I was sure he thought I was an annoyance, maybe even a troublemaker. He seemed as interested in me as he was in one of the squawking chickens.

  Finally I asked how sales were for the bakery. I’d sensed earlier that they were less than stellar.

  He shrugged. “That’s Rosalee’s business, don’t you think?”

  Feeling chastised, I shut up.

  Luke was a fast and hard worker. And strong. After we dumped the manure in a pile behind the barn, we put the shovels away in the toolshed. I stood in the middle, looking around in awe. It was full of hooks and pulleys. The wheelbarrow was hanging from the ceiling, as was a push lawnmower. Each shovel, hoe, and cultivator had its own hanger. The garden stakes and string each had a slot, and even the watering cans had a custom-made shelf.

  “Wow,” I said, twirling around. “Who’s the master organizer?”

  Luke blushed, which I expected. “I like to tinker,” he said.

  “I’d say so.”

  I followed him toward the house, kicked the boots off on the back porch, and then greeted Rosalee in the kitchen.

  “We’ll eat in five minutes,” she said, standing at the stove, the table set for three.

  “I’ll go wash up.”

  Luke still stood at the edge of the mud porch, but I had a feeling he was watching me as I walked down the hall.

  By the time I returned to the kitchen, he was sitting at the head of the table and Rosalee was dishing creamed corn into a serving bowl. She directed me to sit to the right of Luke. Mashed potatoes, a plate of ham slices, and a bowl of chard were already on the table. She sat down and Luke led us in a silent prayer. A few moments later he picked up his fork and I followed suit.

  The three of us ate in silence for several minutes. I chewed my dry ham for what seemed a near eternity. Then I took a bite of the chard, which was overcooked. The mashed potatoes needed more butter, and the creamed corn wasn’t very hot. I hoped Rosalee was a better baker than cook.

  I took a drink of the pinkish juice in my glass. It was a rhubarb punch, I was sure. I’d come across a recipe for it, although I’d never had it before. It was tart and sweet. I analyzed the taste, guessing it als
o had pineapple juice in it. It was delicious.

  Neither Rosalee nor Luke said a word as they ate, and I began to grow anxious in the silence. Finally Rosalee cleared her throat. I looked at her expectantly.

  “So tell me about this baking school idea of yours.” She had an amused look on her face.

  I sighed. So much for not wanting to broach the topic.

  “Well,” I answered. “There’s one in South Bend I looked into, but it’s not going to work out now.” I paused, not sure how to say I didn’t plan to stick around.

  Rosalee concentrated on cutting her ham. After what seemed like quite a while, she said, “I know your grandmother has some money set aside for your schooling. And your mother signed you up for the class.”

  “I beg your pardon?” I looked from Rosalee to Luke, who had a blank stare on his face and quickly dropped his gaze to his plate, where he kept it, which only added to the awkwardness of the conversation.

  “Your mammi is paying for school for you. For the course in South Bend.” Rosalee dished up more corn, adding, “Although for the life of me I can’t understand why anyone would pay to learn how to bake.” She shrugged and then said, “So be it.”

  I tried to give Mammi the benefit of the doubt. While on the one hand, I was pretty sure she had come up with this living and working arrangement as a solution for the keeping-Ella-and-Ezra-apart problem, which was awful, I also had a feeling she was working things out so that I’d have an opportunity to decipher the code, which was fine. Ordinarily, I felt sure that Mammi agreed with both Mom and Aunt Klara that baking school was just a big waste of money, but now that such a thing would give me a reason to stick around Indiana for a while, at the Home Place no less, somehow she’d decided it was worth ponying up for. I didn’t know whether to be furious at her or thrilled.

  Maybe both.

  “She’s already sent a check to the school.”

  I wrinkled my nose, again, trying to give Mammi the benefit of the doubt, but how absolutely presumptive of her! I would rather take baking classes at the community college in Lancaster and be close to Ezra than stay in Indiana.

  Then again, it looked as though Mammi and Mom had now cooked up an offer too good to refuse. I didn’t know what to do.

  We all fell silent once more. I was lost in my thoughts as I chewed another leathery bite of ham, thinking about Ezra and our future life together. Then, trying to distract myself from my loneliness, after I’d swallowed I asked Luke if he stayed for supper with Rosalee very often.

  “Fairly so,” he answered, the color rising in his face. “Except when I’m needed at home.”

  It wasn’t unusual for Amish families to hire their youth out to work. I wondered if Luke was allowed to save his money or if it went to support his family. I’d seen it handled both ways among the Amish in Pennsylvania.

  We spent the rest of the meal in silence until Rosalee served each of us a piece of coconut cake. I took one bite and closed my eyes. It was divine. The cake was moist and flavorful. The icing was a glaze, and the taste of coconut wasn’t overpowered by sweetness.

  “Oh, my,” I said after I’d swallowed my second bite. “This is wonderful.”

  Rosalee didn’t answer me, but Luke nodded in agreement. I ate every last crumb.

  When we finished, Luke led us in a silent, after-the-meal prayer. I’d never heard of such a thing back in Pennsylvania, but he bowed his head again so I followed suit, as did Rosalee.

  After he’d finished, he said he needed to go on home.

  I stood and collected the three plates. “It’s not far, is it?” I wasn’t going to tell them that I’d looked up the distance on Google Earth more than a month ago, plotting how to be closer to Ezra.

  “No, I just cut through the woods. It takes only a few minutes.”

  I glanced out the window over the sink, at the trees. How I wished Ezra was still that close! I’d be thrilled to stay in Indiana if he were, and even more thrilled to go to baking school here.

  “I’ll bring Millie and Eddie with me in the morning,” Luke said to Rosalee.

  “Gut.”

  As I washed the dishes she disappeared, and a few minutes later she returned holding a large manila envelope.

  “This came for you yesterday,” she said.

  Surprised, considering no one knew until today that I would be staying here, I couldn’t fathom whom it was from. I dried my hands and took it from her. It was addressed to me in Mom’s handwriting in care of Rosalee. I opened it up. Inside was a smaller envelope, addressed to me in Pennsylvania. There was no return address in the upper left-hand corner, but when I flipped it over I found, on the flap, a return address label for Petit Paris that had been broken and then re-taped. Obviously, my mother hadn’t even tried to hide the fact that she’d opened my mail to look inside.

  “It’s the information on the cooking school,” Rosalee said. “The next session starts the first of May.”

  I glanced at the front of the larger envelope Mom had addressed again. The postmark was dated the previous Thursday, four days ago, the day before Ada and Will had come to get Ezra. Mom and Mammi hadn’t just come up with a plan this morning—they had been scheming since the moment they knew Will would be coming out here to take Ezra home. These people would do anything to keep the miles between the two of us. Incredible.

  I headed down the hall, the packet under my arm, my cell already out of my pocket. I left messages on Mom’s phone, Aunt Klara’s barn phone, and Ezra’s cell phone, even though I was convinced he no longer had his, as I sorted through the packet of information. It was the same as what was on the website, except there was no tuition list in the packet. Mom must have given that to Mammi.

  Her partner in crime.

  Her coconspirator.

  My benefactor.

  My traitor.

  FIFTEEN

  I tried to sleep but tossed and turned, wishing I could get comfortable on the hard bed. Moonlight shone through the window. Two cats were fighting around eleven. At three I woke to the hooting of an owl.

  Rosalee knocked on my door at five. I was tempted to roll over and go back to sleep, but I struggled out of bed, planting my bare feet on the cold floor and then grabbing a pair of socks from the drawer. By the time I dressed and finished in the bathroom, the smell of bacon was making my mouth water. I hurried down the hall. Rosalee stood at the stove, flipping hotcakes on the griddle. Luke sat at the head of the table again, but he and Rosalee weren’t alone. A young woman, a little older than me, and a boy of about six sat on either side of him.

  “Morning,” Rosalee said to me, the pancake turner in her hand. Then she introduced Luke’s sister and brother, Millie and Eddie, in Pennsylvania Dutch. That much I could understand.

  Both had dark hair like Luke’s and striking gray eyes. Millie was beautiful—no wonder her father was worried when Ezra showed up. She was probably taken with him, like every other girl I knew. As for what he’d thought of her, I could only hope he listened to his heart and not his eyes.

  Eddie smiled at me, showing off dimples identical to his brother’s. My heart melted.

  When he began chattering away in Pennsylvania Dutch, his voice loud and animated, I put up my hand to stop him.

  “I’m not as smart as you are,” I said in English.

  “You are stupid?” He was absolutely serious as he spoke.

  “Ya,” I answered. “Just a little.”

  “Eddie.” Millie’s voice was quiet, like Luke’s. “She’s not Plain.” She glanced at me and sighed. “Well, she’s partly Plain.”

  Then she spoke to him in Pennsylvania Dutch. I made out the English words “Mennonite” and “Lancaster” but that was all.

  “Ach,” Eddie finally said. Then he whispered to Millie, “She’s purty,” and everyone, including me, laughed. There was nothing shy about Luke’s little brother.

  Rosalee stepped toward the table with a plate of hotcakes and a smile on her face. I noted she seemed more relaxed than she ha
d last night. After she put the plate down, she patted Eddie’s head and then settled onto her chair.

  Again, Luke led all of us in a silent prayer, but that, and the fact the bacon was overcooked and the pancakes too doughy, was all this meal had in common with the calm and quiet one from the night before. Eddie, who kept jumping between English and Pennsylvania Dutch, didn’t stop talking except when Millie insisted he give someone else a chance.

  “You don’t want to be annoying,” she chastised.

  He wasn’t at all. He was highly entertaining. I found out all sorts of things, including that he was turning six in June.

  “I’m going to be more than a handful then,” he said, his eyes dancing. “And when I’m sixteen, I’m going to court you, Ella.”

  I nearly spat my coffee all over the table, but somehow I managed to swallow and say, “Sorry, Eddie, but I’ll be an old married lady by then, nearly thirty. Besides, you’ll find an Amish girl. Not a Mennonite one like me.”

  He pouted, so I added, “Don’t worry, buddy, you’ll have your pick. You’re already a player.”

  “What’s a player?”

  I blushed, taking another forkful of doughy pancake followed by a bite of too crisp bacon, thinking if my mouth was full I wouldn’t be able to answer.

  “Like a volleyball player?” Eddie persisted.

  Luke and Millie both looked straight at me. I chewed slowly and nodded.

  As if on cue, Luke suggested that it was time for the end-of-the-meal prayer. Sometimes during a silent prayer I tried to focus on talking to God about my day or what was weighing me down. But sometimes I recited the Lord’s Prayer instead, just as I’d done back in February at Aunt Klara’s house. That’s what I did now, but just like then, I found myself faltering when I reached, “Thy will be done…”

  Was this God’s will for me? To be at the Home Place and attend a baking school in South Bend? The course was three months long, but I wanted to be back in Lancaster much sooner than that. Ada told me once that when God closed one door, He always opened another. He’d certainly done that for her, but I didn’t feel God working in my life the way He had in hers. In fact, I’d always felt God was far more interested in other people’s lives than He was in mine.