“It doesn’t.” I shook my head. “Not at all.”
She winked at me and wasn’t the least bit offended by my remark. I wished that I could be as easygoing as Lois, but on this special errand it was impossible. I turned back to the vendor she had pointed out.
She grabbed my arm and spun me in the other direction. “Don’t look at him. If you do, he will know that we’re interested in buying something from him.”
I sighed and smoothed the sleeve of my plain green dress. “Do I have to remind you that you were pointing at him a moment ago?” Even shopping with Lois was an adventure. “Besides, why do you want that chair?” I asked. “It’s orange. It doesn’t go with a single item in your house.”
She laughed. “Nothing in my house matches, and that’s just how I like it.”
That was the honest truth.
“Because I might have trouble acting cool, why don’t you speak to the man about the chair, and I will keep looking for Ben,” I said.
Finding Ben was the real reason we were at the Harvest Village Flea Market that day. I had been worried about the young man, and because I was the only one in the village who knew him well, I felt responsible to make sure he was all right.
“Good deal,” Lois said. “By the time you find Ben, I will have that chair in my possession for half of what it’s worth.”
“Why don’t we meet at the livestock judging area? I would like to know how the goats are getting on for my great-nephew Micah,” I said.
Lois laughed. “Sounds like a plan.”
I knew she would come away with the chair. I only hoped she didn’t come away with a new husband, too. Lois had a talent for collecting those as well.
With Lois occupied, I continued my search of the flea market for Ben Baughman. Ben was a nineteen-year-old Amish man who had recently moved to Holmes County from Michigan. I had known him since he was a child; he came from the same community in which I had lived for ten years while taking care of my sister while she was ill. Ben had been a nearby neighbor in Michigan, and a thoughtful one, too. He was gut to both my sister and me and came over as often as he could to help me with the chores. He never let me pay him, and I was grateful for it. Taking care of my sister Harriett had been meaningful but hard work.
A few months ago, after my sister’s death, I moved back to Holmes County, Ohio. To be honest, I didn’t expect to see Ben again, as I had no desire ever to return to my sister’s community and I could see no reason he would come to Ohio. However, a month ago I received a letter from Ben. He said that he was planning to move to Holmes County so that he could find work in a larger Amish community. His Amish district in Michigan was very small, and most of the men worked with Englischers. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but Ben said he wanted a more authentic Amish life and believed he could find that in Holmes County, where the Amish population was so much larger.
I told him he was welcome to come and I offered him a room in my little house until he got on his feet. I didn’t think he stayed with me for even a week. He had been determined to make a life of his own and found a basement room for rent.
Behind me, I heard Lois’s voice carry as she haggled with the antiques vendor over the chair. By the sound of it, the seller was already beginning to waffle on his price. I had expected nothing less.
I scanned the large barn for any sign of Ben. I was in the middle of a crush of shoppers and merchant booths that sold everything from produce to furniture to old toys and guns.
I also wondered if I’d chosen the wrong day to be looking for him. Perhaps I’d come on a day Ben didn’t have to work. He was a guard of sorts for the flea market. In the last few weeks there had been a series of robberies. Many of the vendors had been hit. When they threatened to leave for the sake of the safety of their goods and their families, the owner had posted a job for an after-hours guard. I had seen the job notice on the community bulletin board at the Sunbeam Café, which Darcy Woodin, Lois’s granddaughter, owned and operated. Lois worked there part time, but her hours seemed to be irregular at best. She only worked at the café when she was bored or when Darcy was desperate for a second set of hands.
When I saw the posting, Ben had just moved to Ohio. I told him about it, and he applied and got the job right away. I thought I had done my duty and everything was settled. What I didn’t know was that he was going to meet his match at the flea market and that would lead to complications.
I spotted Ben beside the baked goods stand. It was the end of September, so the stand was heavy on apple tarts, pumpkin pies, and sweet potato cookies. He wasn’t alone. He was speaking with a woman in a flowered blouse, a long skirt, and a prayer cap. I knew right away that she was Mennonite from her almost-Plain dress and cap. She handed Ben an envelope. He nodded, folded it twice, and tucked it into the pocket of his navy work shirt.
The woman walked away, and Ben smiled as I approached him. His straw-colored hair stood on end despite the strict Amish bowl cut he adhered to. A dusting of freckles danced across his face. He might be nineteen, but when caught in the right light he could pass for twelve. He certainly didn’t look like someone old enough to be a night guard or to be falling in love and considering marriage.
He smiled wider, and I saw the gap between his two front teeth that also added to his youthful appearance. “Millie, it’s so gut to see you. Do you need to do a little shopping at the flea market? You will be hard-pressed not to find what you need here. It seems that everything is for sale.”
I shook my head. “I’m not in the market for anything in particular right now, but I know Lois will do enough shopping for both of us.”
He laughed. “This doesn’t surprise me. I’m on the way to my second job. I just . . .” His voice trailed off as he looked across the flea market.
“What job is this?”
“The lumberyard,” he said. “Wait, no. Today it’s stocking the Harvest Market. That’s where I need to go next. My lumberyard job is on opposite days from the market. Eventually, I will get it all straight. In a week it will be habit, knowing everywhere I need to go and when I need to be there.”
I frowned. “How many jobs are you working exactly?”
“Four.” He paused when he saw the look on my face. “It was five, but I dropped one. Five was one too many.”
“Four sounds like too many, too,” I said, concerned. “Especially if you are forgetting where you need to be.”
“It’s worth it . . .” He trailed off and looked at the orchard stand. Now I knew why he was standing at this part of the flea market. He had the perfect view of the apple orchard stand and the lovely young woman selling the apples. Tess Lieb.
“How’s Tess?” I asked.
His face broke into a smile that was made even more endearing by the gap in his teeth. “She’s wonderful. Oh, Millie,” he said to me quietly in Pennsylvania Dutch. “She’s my match. I just wish her father could see that. I am working so hard to prove to him that I’m the right fit.”
Tess was an eighteen-year-old Amish woman who lived with her parents and younger siblings on their vast apple orchard just outside the village. This time of year, her family’s orchard stand did a brisk business as both Englisch and Amish wanted to buy the crispest, best apples.
September was the height of business for the Liebs. In the fall, the orchard was a hive of activity as the apple picking season went into full swing. They sold apples to wholesalers, at the local markets, and even from the orchard itself with a you-pick-your-own grove of trees.
Tess and her siblings were spread out with their apples all over Holmes County, but Tess seemed to always be at the flea market, where Ben had first laid eyes on her.
Across the flea market, Tess handed an elderly man his quarter-bushel bag of apples. As she accepted his money, her eyes strayed in Ben’s direction. When their eyes locked, she blushed. If not completely in love, she certainly was enamored with Ben’s attentions. It was my job as a matchmaker to recognize whether Ben and Tess were a perfec
t match or whether it was just Ben’s wishful thinking. Affection or not, it made no difference if her family was against the match.
Tobias Lieb, Tess’s father, stepped into the apple booth and glared at Ben before speaking harshly to Tess. She dropped her eyes and began bagging more apples.
Ben looked away with a sigh. “As you can see, Millie, I have gotten nowhere with her father. I don’t know why, but he seems to dislike me even more than he did weeks ago. I only want to prove to Tess’s father that I am ready to settle down,” he went on. “I know I am young yet, but I can provide for the family I want to have. I will be twenty next week,” he added, as if this gave emphasis to his argument.
“At twenty, you will still be a young man with your whole life in front of you. Give it time,” I said, ready to share the wisdom I’d come to the flea market to impart in the first place. “Nothing lasts forever, not even your troubles,” I said, reciting an Amish proverb.
He frowned at me. “Where’s this coming from, Millie? I thought you would be on my side about this.”
I sighed. “I received a letter.”
“A letter?” he asked. “Who from?”
I glanced at the apple booth and then back at Ben. “From Tobias.” I swallowed. “And it was about you.”
Marshmallow Malice Page 25