by Naomi Miller
“Well, but maybe it was a stranger.” Katie answered her. “There are lots of visitors in town right now, with the holiday approaching and all the shops are having special sales to celebrate.”
Hannah leaned across the table and said, in a low voice. “And why did you tell Mrs. Simpkins she needed to contact the police?”
Katie blew out a breath. “I know she has to report anything that happens at the bakery to her insurance company. I was certain they would insist on the police investigating the break-in.”
“I would love to sit with you until Mrs. Simpkins arrives, but I had better get back inside and get everything ready for the customers who will be showing up here soon.” With that, Hannah began to gather up the now-empty cups, along with the napkins and tray.
“Danki for the hot kaffe and fresh pastry.” Katie smiled up at Hannah. “It’s just what I needed to calm myself before going back to the bakery.
“Danki for thinking of me, too.” Freida spoke, as Hannah stepped away from the little table.
“Gen gschehne. I’m so glad to be helpful on such a terrible morning.” With that, Hannah excused herself and returned to the coffee shop.
After Hannah had gone back into the coffee shop, Katie looked over at Freida. “Hannah is a gut freind. Jah?”
“Jah. And you are truly a gut freind, too, Katie. I shudder to think of how close I came to walking into the mess at The Sweet Shop this morning. Danki, Katie-girl, for stopping me just in time.” Freida looked so relieved, Katie almost laughed.
“Freida, I cannot stop thinking about how strange it all was. Do you really suppose it was a stranger? For sure and for certain, it couldn't have been anyone we know, could it?” Katie asked, before adding a personal thought.
“I'm thinking it must have been an Englischer . . . at least I hope so. I know that doesn't sound so gut, but I guess I just don't want to think that it could have been an Amish freind.”
“I don't know, Katie. You know very well that some of the buwes go a little crazy on their rumschpringe. My bruders have come home smelling like cigarette smoke and alcohol.” Freida looked outraged at the very thought of it.
“They even wore strange, Englischer clothes and rode around in fast cars. I heard that some of the buwes even carried cellphones around, but I don't think my bruders ever did. My dat would have had a fit.”
At that moment, Katie spied Mrs. Simpkins walking toward them with a police officer.
“Come, Freida. Mrs. Simpkins is waiting. It's time to get some answers...”
Taking her freind's arm, Katie tried to prepare herself for whatever came next.
Katie watched as Mrs. Simpkins talked to Abbott Creek's newest police officer. Katie knew the young woman had moved here a few months ago from the city, but that was all she knew about her.
The young policewoman asked lots of questions and Mrs. Simpkins answered, gesturing around the bakery as she spoke.
“What is going on, Katie?”
She turned to answer, as the worry in Freida's voice distracted her from what was going on in front of her.
“I believe Mrs. Simpkins is upset because the new policewoman told her we could not disturb anything in the bakery until they are finished with their investigation.”
Freida wrung her hands as she stepped away from Katie. She paced a few steps away to the end of the sidewalk and then back.
“Of course she is upset, Katie. What are we going to do? If we are not to disturb anything, I am certain that means we cannot remove the orders that were not taken. What will we tell our customers? What will everyone take to the celebration tonight? Ach, Katie, why are you not more upset?”
As the police officer walked into another room, where the prepared orders were usually kept, Mrs. Simpkins turned and came near the girls, saving Katie from having to answer Freida’s question.
“Girls, we're not going to be able to use anything in here. Not even the few things that were left by whoever did this. We can't use the kitchen and we can't take anything out until they're finished with their investigation.”
Dear Gott, if Mrs. Simpkins hadn’t needed to call the police—and the insurance company, all of this could have been avoided. We could clean everything up and get back to work.
Katie wished now she had never mentioned the police to Mrs. Simpkins. Maybe if she hadn’t panicked, and mentioned calling them, Mrs. Simpkins wouldn’t have gotten them involved.
It’s not our way. Dat is right; their ways are not our ways. And now they are keeping us from doing our job. After all, it's not as if anyone was hurt.
“But how will we fill the customer's orders?” Freida was wringing her hands again as she spoke, quietly . . . almost to herself.
Katie looked from Mrs. Simpkins to Freida. They were only seeing the bad in this situation. Maybe there was another choice.
“We can't just wait around. We will have to find some other way to do it.”
Both women turned to look at her, eyes wide. Katie scrambled for something else to say . . . some answer that must be right in front of them—only no one had seen it yet.
The rumble of a car engine drew Katie's attention to the street behind her. As she turned, the sign from the cafe across the street came into her view.
“Irish Blessings!.” She said the words excitedly, thinking only of her discovery.
“The cafe?” Mrs. Simpkins and Freida asked at the same time.
“Jah, don't you see?”
“No.” Mrs. Simpkins' response tumbled together with Freida's own “Nee.” Katie found it a struggle not to laugh at how comical the two women sounded.
“The cafe does not open until noon. Perhaps Mr. O'Neal would let us use his kitchen to prepare our orders.”
Katie stopped there, knowing full well that Mr. O'Neal would most likely do anything for Mrs. Simpkins—although she never seemed to see his affection for herself.
“Ach, Katie. That is a wonderful gut idea.” Freida nearly jumped in her excitement. “We should go and ask him.”
Freida looked over at Mrs. Simpkins as she spoke. When she looked back at Katie and saw the hint of a smile, she quickly put a hand up to her mouth to hide her own smile from Mrs. Simpkins.
It was true that over half the town had long speculated over whether or not anything would ever come of Andrew O'Neal's interest in Mrs. Amelia Simpkins. But so far, she seemed oblivious to it.
Perhaps there could come some gut from what had at first seemed like a disaster.
Katie followed Andrew O'Neal through the swinging double doors that separated the kitchen from the dining area at the Irish Blessings, as he had affectionately named his cafe.
“It is gut of you to allow us to use your kitchen.”
“Yes, well, um . . . your boss has a way of making it difficult for me to say no.”
Katie might have worried that perhaps Mrs. Simpkins was a bit too pushy when asking their neighbor if they could use his kitchen, but she knew, even if Mrs. Simpkins had been pushy, he would have gladly done anything for her.
“I only wish I could give you more time.”
Katie held her tongue for a moment, until she could think of an appropriate response. She would not have been surprised if he had chosen to close for the entire day—anything to help out Katie's boss.
“I know Mrs. Simpkins really appreciates the time you can give us. We have more than four hours to bake. That is for sure and for certain more time than we had only a few minutes ago.”
He laughed before answering. “You have a point.”
“And do not forget, Freida is baking at the Inn as well. Gott has truly blessed us in this time of hardship.”
“He has, indeed.” Andrew nodded his head agreeably as they wound their way around to his supply room and pantry.
“Speaking of which . . .” Andrew gestured to the stocked shelves in the large room.
“Milly mentioned to me when we made the arrangements, that she planned to go shopping for ingredients. I know that I may no
t have everything you need. However, if there is something you can get started with, you are welcome to anything you can find on my shelves.”
Katie ducked her head to hide her surprise. No matter how many times Mrs. Simpkins told him no one called her Milly, Andrew always insisted on using the shortened form of her name—though more often than not, it was when he was actually speaking to her.
This was the first time Katie had heard him refer to her boss, using his nickname for her, when she was nowhere nearby to hear him.
It was just one of the ways he teased her. One of the ways he showed his affection. The affection that everyone who knew both of them saw . . . except for the lady being discussed, of course.
“Danki. That is mighty generous of you.”
“Everything is pretty much where you would expect to find it.” He gestured to the kitchen behind them.
“Danki.” Katie said again, before going on. “I am certain I can find everything. You have a well-organized kitchen.”
“Yes. Well, if there is anything else you need, just give a shout. I'll be upstairs.”
“Will I need to go out front to let Mrs. Simpkins in when she arrives?”
“No, I'll buzz her in. I could have done the same when you arrived, but it seemed a better idea to show you around the kitchen.”
“I appreciate that.”
“All right, then. I will be going upstairs now.”
Katie watched him go, before turning back to the well-stocked pantry. Looking down at the list in her hand, she thought of the ingredients she would need for each item on the list, comparing them to what she saw on the shelves in front of her.
There were several types of cookies on the list she needed for orders that customers had scheduled to pick up early today. She should start with those.
She scanned the list again, looking for the recipes with simple ingredients. She found three different cookies she could get started on with the ingredients she had on hand.
Hmm . . . I will need flavoring for the icing . . . but for now, she could get the cookie dough started.
Katie began gathering up the supplies she would need for the three different types of cookies, carrying everything over to one of the large prep tables at the back of the spacious kitchen.
As she worked, she thought about the mess in their own kitchen. She hadn't seen much from her place by the front door of the bakery, but whether the mess had carried on into the kitchen or not, there would likely be no baking done there today.
A little while later, Katie looked up at the sound of Mrs. Simpkins’ voice. “Oh good, you've already gotten a start on the orders.”
Seeing how many bags her boss had in each hand, and even more looped over each arm, Katie rushed around the counter to relieve her of as many of them as possible.
“Thank you, Katie.” Mrs. Simpkins had just placed the last bag on the counter, when Andrew walked into the kitchen behind her, similarly laden.
“My goodness, Milly! Did you buy everything in the store?”
Mrs. Simpkins only laughed and waved a hand at him in response.
She must be in a gut mood . . . not to mind his teasing.
Out loud, Katie added, “Are there more bags? And do you need help bringing them in?”
She stepped forward, starting to move around the long counter, but Andrew put up a hand to stop her.
“You keep doing what you're doing. Neither of us can take over your job. Carrying bags . . . that we can do.”
“If you're certain . . .”
“We are, Katie, but thank you.” Mrs. Simpkins reached over to give Katie's hand a pat before turning to go back through the swinging doors at the kitchen's entryway.
Katie resisted looking through the bags for the moment, going back to her stirring. She would need to get these cookies into the oven soon. Then she could go through the bags Mrs. Simpkins had brought her.
Katie spent the next two hours measuring, stirring, baking and decorating cookies and cupcakes. She put the first batch of blueberry cupcakes in the oven just as Mrs. Simpkins walked into the kitchen with Andrew O'Neal in tow.
“Katie, they're telling me now that it will be tomorrow, at the very least, before we can get back into the bakery.”
“Aye, tis a good thing you made the decision to close early today, Milly.” Andrew teased, ducking out of the way when Mrs. Simpkins swiped a hand at him.
“That does nothing to help with the orders. We have customers coming to pick up their orders—and they'll find the bakery closed and nothing to pick up.”
“I have good news. The police told me that most of the customer orders were left behind—untouched. They're making arrangements to bring them over to the cafe.”
“Could we call the customers . . . tell them what is going on and let them know to come here or to the Inn to pick up their orders?” Katie made the suggestion hesitantly.
With everything else that was happening at the bakery, she did not want to say anything to upset her boss. Mrs. Simpkins looked uncertain for a moment or two, but then a smile slowly bloomed on her face, making her look happier—and more relaxed, than she had looked all morning.
“Katie, that is a brilliant idea. I love it! I have everyone's contact information. I should be able to call them all.”
“Should I help you?”
“No. You keep baking. I can handle calling the customers. But thank you for your wonderful suggestion.”
With that, Mrs. Simpkins turned, and nearly tripped over Andrew, as she walked toward the swinging doors at the entrance to the kitchen.
Katie stifled a laugh as the two of them made their way through the doors and into the dining area . . . Andrew making a grand sweeping gesture with his hands, as he bent at the waist and motioned for Mrs. Simpkins to go through the doors ahead of him.
She swatted a hand at him again as she moved past, but Katie thought she could see a hint of a smile on her boss's face, as she moved through the doorway.
“Katie?”
Mrs. Simpkins called out as she came through the swinging doors, into the kitchen area.
“Katie. You've been a trooper, staying here and working all morning. Now that we have many of our orders back, and you've made enough cookies and cupcakes to cover the lost one, we're going to make all our deliveries!”
“That's wunderbaar!”
“Yes, well, that's what I want to discuss with you. We have several orders requested by families in your community. We cannot reach them by phone. Can you deliver them after you take a lunch break?”
“Of course! I would be happy to deliver them.”
“All right. Then you had better get going after you eat your lunch. Andrew has made you a sandwich to eat before you go.”
“Please thank him for me. I will eat quickly and be on my way.”
“Don't rush, dear. Enjoy your meal first. Then pick up the orders. They're waiting by the side door. And you won't need to return today. Go home and get some rest before the celebration tonight.”
With that, Mrs. Simpkins turned and headed back upstairs.
A small sigh of relief escaped Katie as she stepped down from the long, wood porch. It felt wonderful gut knowing there were no more deliveries. Now she would have time to go back to the cafe and clean up a bit, before Andrew had to open for the day.
It was when she closed the gate behind her that she spotted a little buwe, sitting on a sagging porch next door; eating what looked like one of her specially created holiday blueberry cupcakes.
Most of the frosting was missing from the top, but the bright blue wrapper was easy to see—and Katie knew she only used those wrappers once a year.
She would not have thought anything of it, except that she knew no one had actually received an order of those cupcakes.
When she had made replacements this morning, she'd been forced to use the plain white wrappers Mrs. Simpkins had brought her.
Cautiously, she walked along the sidewalk, watching the little buwe as he ate the cu
pcake . . . a cupcake she was more and more certain had been taken from the bakery that she had found a mess this very morning.
Katie had just reached the gate that was hanging more than a little crooked, when the little buwe looked up and waved.
His mouth was covered in frosting and he was as dirty as a little pig, but the smile that spread across his face was adorable and his wave was quite enthusiastic.
“Hi, there.” He shouted to her when she stopped walking and returned his wave.
“Hi.”
He turned away from her, only to turn back a second later. He jumped down each porch step, and once he reached the bottom, he ran over to her.
Holding out his hand to her, he asked, “Do you want one? They're really good.” In his hand he held another cupcake, a bit smooshed, but otherwise untouched.
He held it up to her with another big smile, while she stood there for several seconds, trying to decide whether or not she should take it.
It had to be one of the cupcakes taken from the bakery, but could she really accuse a buwe who would not be more than five years old of stealing it?
She knew she couldn't—so she decided to try and find out where it had kumme from . . . certainly this little buwe had not kumme all the way into town, broken into the bakery, and stolen the cupcakes.
Perhaps someone had given it to him . . .
“That cupcake does look very gut. Where did you get it?”
The buwe shrugged before answering. “I don't know where they came from, but I got it from my brothers. He brought a bunch of them home for us. They're really good.”
He held it up to her again, but she was even more determined to get to the bottom of the situation than she was to take a cupcake from this little buwe.
“It is awfully early to be eating a cupcake. Have you had breakfast yet?”
“You talk funny. Why do you talk like that?” He looked up at her with his head tilted to one side and a curious gleam in his eyes, but he did not answer her question.
“I am one of the plain folk. We all talk this way.” She smiled at him before adding, “Maybe it is you who talks funny.”