“And then to find us. And to like us, too!” Rhoda continued. “From what Mamma tells me, ya stepped right in, takin’ orders during this morning’s breakfast rush like ya were an old hand at it.”
Rhoda flashed her a wide smile, so much like the one Rebecca saw in her mirror these days. She’d hidden her emotions behind the black hair dye and the pale Goth makeup that she, as Tiffany Oliveri, had believed was so dramatic, so flattering—until this Plain family had accepted her with their unconditional love. The name Rebecca felt more comfortable now, too—more in tune with who she was becoming, now that she’d gotten away from her former friends.
“Truth be told,” she said, imitating their Pennsylvania Dutch version of English, “I waited tables while I was in college. So taking orders and clearing tables is no big deal to me.”
“Well, I was mighty relieved to see ya step in that way,” Mamma assured her again. “Poor Hannah was tryin’ her best, but she works better in the kitchen with her mamm.”
“She’s young yet,” Rebecca noted. “It’s mind-boggling to juggle all those little waitressing tasks, until you’re used to it.”
“Jah, and I bet her older brothers Seth and Aaron, not to mention our cousins Nate and Bram Kanagy, were givin’ her a hard time, too.” Rhoda emptied a quart jar of home-canned green beans into a pan and sliced an onion into it. “They’ve got no idea how long they take—or how much they eat! And their chatter about their dates gets irritatin’ when they go on and on as though I’m not in the room, too!”
“That sounds infuriating.” Rebecca watched her sister’s expressions as she vented. “So who does that?”
“Are ya talkin’ about Ben’s brothers?” Mamma gazed earnestly at her other daughter. “Ira and Luke’ve been gettin’ nervy that way when they’ve come to the house, too. I was ready to say something to them on Thanksgivin’, so I’ll bring it up to Ben—”
“It’s no bother, Mamma,” Rhoda assured her quickly. “They can brag all they want about takin’ Annie Mae Knepp and Millie Glick out. I’ve got bigger fish to fry!”
Rebecca laughed as she set three plates on the small table in the apartment’s tidy kitchen. Rhoda had a freer sense of humor than their sister Rachel, and her spirit seemed more mischievous than Rebecca had expected of an Amish girl, too. “So how’s your new job? Was it scary to work with a lady who’d had a stroke? Did the kids help you around the house, or were they a pain in the butt?”
Rhoda’s smile defied description: a pinch of mystery and a dash of satisfaction mixed with a heaping helping of happiness. “Oh, Betty—Andy’s mamm—is such a sweet lady, even if half her face is droopy,” she said with a little shrug. “After I washed and combed her hair today, you’d have thought I made her face muscles snap back into place.”
“No matter how hard Andy might try, it’s not the same as havin’ your hair fixed by somebody who halfway knows how.” Mamma looked up from the platter of fried chicken she was about to warm in the oven. “The two kids are probably glad to have somebody lookin’ after them, too, seein’s how their mamm’s not around.”
“Jah, I can’t imagine how any woman could leave them.” Rhoda shook her head. “They were so excited when I made pancakes in the shapes of their initials, like nobody had ever done that for them.”
Rebecca considered that . . . because it was a clever idea that Rhoda had carried out as second nature. Nobody had ever made alphabet pancakes for her, either. It was her sister’s kitty-cat grin that made her speculate, however: Rhoda seemed very happy about working in that English household, not to mention surprisingly tolerant of the way Ben’s brothers had bragged about their conquests. “So what’s the dad like? Did you say he was a nurse?”
“Almost finished with his schoolin’, jah,” Rhoda replied. “I’ll have to ask him not to go on and on about the gut work I do for him, though. It’s just not our way to get caught up in so many compliments, you see.”
Oh, but Rhoda’s grin was shining like a clean windowpane, at the mention of the man who had hired her. Rebecca filled their glasses with water. Whether she knew it or not, Rhoda was showing all the signs of a crush like the ones she’d had on a couple of her better-looking teachers in high school. Rebecca could well imagine what Hiram Knepp, the taut-jawed bishop, would say if he caught a hint of this . . . just as he would raise some pointed questions about her own private plan to return to Willow Ridge.
“I liked Andy, though,” Mamma continued matter-of-factly. “Busy as he is, tryin’ to finish his nursin’ degree, he sincerely wants to take care of his kids and his mamm. Nothin’s more important than faith and family, and Andy Leitner’s got a boatload of faith even if he doesn’t go around talkin’ about it.”
Faith and family . . . if ever there was a lead-in to what was on Rebecca’s mind today, her mother had just handed her a key to what she hoped would be a new door for all of them. Rebecca closed her eyes, gathering her strength. It would be a wonderful thing if You’d give me some convincing words here, Lord, even if I’m not so good about praying except when I want something.
“This family idea has been on my mind a lot since I’ve gotten to know the three of you Lantzes,” she began tentatively, “so . . . well, what would you think if I wanted to move to Willow Ridge? Say, around the first of the year?”
Her mother’s brown eyes lit up. “And what’s bringin’ this on?” she asked, barely containing her excitement. “I hope your dat’s doin’ all right—”
“Oh, he’s fine! But he’s selling the house, to move into a condo where he won’t have yard work in the summer or snow to shovel in the winter—”
“Well, there’s a fine idea!” Rhoda remarked as they sat down to their dinner.
“—and, well . . . I think Dad might have a girlfriend he’s not saying much about yet. He’s getting out more, and he seems pretty happy about it.”
The whole room vibrated with Mamma’s suppressed laughter. “Jah, we parents who’re lookin’ to have a social life can be a real mystery—or an embarrassment��to our kids,” she remarked with a grin for Rhoda. “So we know how you’re feelin’ about now. Like things aren’t such a gut fit anymore, while your home situation seems to be changin’ faster than you’re ready for.”
How was it that this Plain woman had such a handle on the way she was feeling, even though she hadn’t grown up as Miriam’s daughter? Rebecca relaxed.
“I hope that means you’ll want to bunk with me!” Rhoda chimed in. “Now that the Hooley brothers have moved into their apartment above the new mill, and Rachel’s in the big house with Micah, and Mamma’s gettin’ a new home across the road, well—” Her arms opened wide to encompass the apartment they now sat in. “We’ve got us a cozy nest here, Rebecca, and a nice blue room for ya. If ya think ya can stand livin’ in such close quarters with the likes of me, that is.”
Rebecca’s hand fluttered to her mouth. Her eyes welled up with tears. Why had she thought it would be difficult to make such a request of Miriam and Rhoda? Time and again she’d seen these women welcome newcomers to their table and into their lives. “I—I wasn’t sure how I might fit in, or who might already plan to live in the main house, or—”
“You’re family, honey-bug,” her mother said with a sweet smile. “Not a one of us would turn ya away, even if all of us—includin’ Ben and his brothers and the two Hooley aunts—were gonna live in that house. I’m just so tickled ya want to come here, Rebecca!”
“Jah! So . . .” Rhoda studied her over a chicken leg. “Does this mean you’ll want to waitress at the café all the time? I thought you were doin’ computer work.”
“And I am,” Rebecca replied quickly. “But my dream is to develop my own graphic-arts business. It will take a while to build up enough clients to live on what I make. I don’t want to be a mooch—”
“Ya don’t have a moochin’ bone in your body, child,” Miriam whispered as she reached across the table for Rebecca’s hand. “Your folks raised ya right. And besides that, ya co
me from Amish stock and some of those workin’ ways are bred right into ya, like it or not!”
Again Rebecca got goose bumps. Oh, what a wonderful thing it was, to be so loved and accepted by these women. “I like it just fine, Mamma,” she breathed. “I hope my living here won’t cause you any problems with Hiram Knepp, or—”
“Puh!” Her mother reached for a second piece of chicken. “What with the bishop bein’ put under the ban for hidin’ that fancy car, he’s learnin’ humility like the rest of us. And have ya ever known me to knuckle under just because Hiram thought he knew what I needed better than I did?”
Rebecca laughed. Such a feisty spirit this woman had beneath her prayer kapp and apron. “You certainly proved that when my dad bought your building, and again when you decided to marry Ben instead of the bishop.”
“So there ya have it!” Rhoda crowed.
“For sure and for certain!” Miriam declared, grabbing her hand again. “For gut, and forever, Rebecca.”
“Jah! For gut and forever!” her sister echoed as she completed their circle around the little kitchen table.
Rebecca held her breath, overwhelmed by the love that filled this room . . . by the pulse that connected them with an inexplicable bond. It called to mind the morning of Rachel’s wedding day, when she had dressed like her sisters: they’d obviously been triplets on the outside, yet the three of them were even more deeply unified on a level she’d never experienced. While being raised as the only child of Janet and Bob Oliveri had been a wonderful life, this coming together with her kin moved her deeply. Blood was thicker than water—and the love of Miriam, Rachel, and Rhoda Lantz had certainly proved stronger than the river current that had carried her away as a toddler.
“Thank you so much,” she whispered. Then she grinned. “I think Dad might be just as tickled as I am about this, when I tell him where I’m moving.”
“He’ll know you’re in gut company, amongst family,” her mother agreed as she helped herself to another slice of bread. “It’ll free him up to make his own move forward, just like it’ll give ya a way to start your computer business without goin’ out on too much of a limb. Once again, it’s the hand of God nudgin’ everybody the way He wants us to go—just like He’s done for Rhoda.”
Rebecca considered that as she helped herself to more of this simple, delicious meal. “I guess I always thought of Amish women as stay-at-home mothers who mostly kept up the house and did the gardening, and who expected their daughters to do the same. I’m glad I was mistaken about that!”
“Oh, what you’re sayin’ is true,” Miriam replied, “because the Old Ways haven’t changed for centuries. But losin’ the head of the household puts a whole ’nother twist into things for a widow. I could’ve lived with my brothers’ families in Jamesport or Clark, or asked some of Jesse’s family to take me in. But Willow Ridge is my home.”
A delightful smile lit her mother’s face. “Once I decided to bake, and Naomi jumped in with me—on account of how her Ezra can’t work at his carpentry, after his accident—why, all sorts of doors opened up. Now I’m wonderin’ if we’re gettin’ more business than we can handle. But we’ll work it out,” Mamma insisted quickly. “After all, here you are, Rebecca, takin’ on some of the table-waitin’ like a pro. God’ll provide whatever we need, whether it be gettin’ more help . . . or decidin’ that the new website is stretchin’ us beyond where the Sweet Seasons is meant to go.”
Rebecca’s eyebrows rose as she passed on what her teachers had impressed upon her. “Well, Mamma, nobody goes into business to get smaller—”
“That’s English thinkin’. We Plain folks don’t believe our livelihoods should overtake our lives.” Mamma clasped her hands on the tabletop, her expression firm yet loving. “While Derek Shotwell at the bank would sure enough loan me money to expand—and to convince your dat to add on to the building—that’s not gonna happen. My faith and my family come first. And what with gettin’ hitched and startin’ up in a new home with a fella a few years younger than me, well . . .” Once again a grin lit up her mother’s face. “Let’s just say I’m lookin’ forward to bein’ a bride again.”
Miriam Lantz radiated a passion for love and life—and for Ben Hooley. And why wouldn’t she? Ben was a wonderful man, not to mention attractive. In the months since the blacksmith’s arrival, he’d contributed a lot to the Willow Ridge community.
“If you think your website needs to come down, Mamma, that’s the way it’ll be,” Rebecca said. “It’s wonderful, seeing you this happy! You’re a good example for me to follow, when I finally meet a guy I’d consider marrying.”
Her mother shrugged. “That’s what mamms are for.”
Wasn’t it just the best thing, that after she had lost one mother, she’d found Miriam? God’s hand, leadin’ ya where you’re supposed to go . . .
Rebecca went warm inside. She’d spent the last couple of years wishing, figuring out what to do with her life . . . trying out dreams she wanted to make a reality. And today at the Sweet Seasons, a major chunk of her future had magically, effortlessly, fallen into place.
Pretty awesome, God. Thanks!
Chapter Seven
Ben sat in the church service Sunday morning smiling, trying not to be obvious about peering between the heads of the older fellows seated in front of him. When Miriam’s eyes found his from across the crowded room, his heart fluttered. Maybe their game of peekaboo wasn’t appropriate for Sunday worship, yet who could fault him for loving the woman he intended to marry?
Meanwhile their deacon, Reuben Riehl, stood up to read from the large Bible. “From the thirteenth chapter of Romans, the day’s Scripture lesson,” the burly redhead announced. “‘Let every soul be subject unto the higher powers. For there is no power but of God: the powers that be are ordained of God,’” he said in his clear voice. “‘Whosoever therefore resisteth the power, resisteth the ordinance of God; and they that resist shall receive to themselves damnation. For rulers are not a terror to good works but to the evil . . .’”
As the reading ended and Jeremiah Shetler rose to preach, Ben sensed the Morning Star bishop’s words would be aimed partly at Hiram Knepp: because of his shunning, Hiram sat in the front row of the men’s side with his head bowed as a sign of humility and repentance. From what Ben had heard from his aunt Jerusalem, however, Hiram was champing at the bit and more than ready to get his final two weeks of separation behind him so he could resume his role as the bishop of Willow Ridge. He wasn’t a man known for letting anyone else take the lead or take control.
And sure enough, after a three-hour service focused mostly on the theme of obeying a higher power—be it God, or those chosen by God—Hiram abruptly stood up and stalked out. Miriam’s kitchen door slammed in his wake, raising the eyebrows of those in the huge room. After a moment, the men rose to rearrange the room, as usual, while the women got the food ready to serve.
“Well, there you have it,” Seth Brenneman murmured. “Hiram’s not allowed to stay for today’s common meal, nor to talk much to members while he’s shunned, but he’s sure enough been chattin’ up those of us who haven’t yet joined the church.”
Ben turned to face the two brothers who, with Rachel’s Micah, had completed Willow Ridge’s new mill in record time so they could build his house for Miriam by year’s end. “Jah? How so?” he asked.
Naomi’s brawny blond sons looked at each other as they shifted the long wooden pew benches into place for the meal. “Oh, he seems real interested in what-all species of wood ya chose for your cabinets and stairs,” Seth remarked. “And he’s askin’ about what the place is costin’ to build—”
“And if it’s bein’ financed by Derek Shotwell’s bank,” Aaron joined in with a shake of his head. “I was glad Micah was there with us when Hiram came along to quiz us, on account of how I didn’t know much about those particulars.”
“Nor did we think—even though Hiram’s the bishop—he had any call to be keepin’ account of your new house,
” Seth added.
“Now why am I not surprised?” Ben murmured as he looked around the crowd of men who were setting up tables. “When was this goin’ on? Just lately?”
“Jah, he was there yesterday morning. After we left the café.”
“Denki for lettin’ me know. Something tells me he might’ve been chattin’ up my brothers, as well, if he was over at the house.” Ben spotted Luke and Ira near the kitchen door, where Annie Mae Knepp and Millie Glick stood ready with plates and silverware. Now there was fuel for Bishop Knepp’s fire, as Luke had been spending plenty of his evenings with the bishop’s eldest daughter.
Ben made his way toward them, considering how to speak to his brothers without involving the girls. He reminded himself that as their bishop, Hiram had the authority to warn them about becoming too worldly or so heavily indebted they couldn’t keep up with their bills. But this latest visit to his future home—talking with the carpenters rather than with him—raised a red flag.
“Say, fellas,” he said as he clapped his brothers on the shoulders, “I’m wonderin’ if I can pull ya away from these perty girls to help me for a few.”
Ira looked ready to smart off, but Luke smiled gallantly at Annie Mae and then followed Ben through the kitchen to Miriam’s front porch. “What’s goin’ on, Bennie?” he asked as they stepped outside into the brisk wind. “Have Aunt Jerusalem and Aunt Nazareth been waggin’ your tail—waggin’ their tongues—about my keepin’ company with Annie Mae?”
Ben gestured toward some boxes of food to be carried into the kitchen, pies and salads that wouldn’t fit in Miriam’s fridge but had stayed plenty cold enough out here on this late November day. “Should they be tellin’ me things?” he countered playfully. “Like, about how Hiram thinks you’re leadin’ his daughter astray, keepin’ her from bein’ baptized into the church?”
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