by Ruth Reid
I suggest you forget him. You’ll only be wasting your time if you don’t.
Sincerely,
The man from the cabinet shop
Joy snorted. Henry wasn’t a waste of time. Her mind whirled with thoughts of what she planned to tell the man about his suggestion. She shoved the letter back into the envelope and marched toward the bakery. Too much peppermint in the frosting . . . She didn’t know too many cabinet-making bakers or males who baked, for that matter. His letter was certainly slanted against women, calling her a nice but naïve girl.
Joy entered the bakery through the back door and slipped into the office. She pulled out the water bill, piled the junk mail into its designated area, then opened the top drawer and removed a piece of stationery and a pen.
October 16
Dear Cabinetmaker,
Obviously, you don’t have an ounce of decency. Don’t you know it’s poor manners to open a package that doesn’t belong to you? You not only opened it, but you ate the contents and read the letter. What’s more, you dole out advice as if you know me.
I’m not some naïve nice girl wasting my time. Henry and I planned to marry more than a year ago. You, on the other hand, are so narrow-minded you probably have never been in love.
Sincerely,
J.S.
As Joy copied the return address from his letter, she paused. North Fieldstone Drive. It made a little more sense. Her cousin lived on the south end. Still, he could have given the package back to the mail carrier. She finished addressing the envelope. In a rush to send off her response, she sped out the door without checking on Sarah.
Her heart fluttered as she approached the hardware store. Henry was placing a closeout sign on the rack of rakes and hoes.
“Getting ready for winter already?” She eyed the snow shovel rack next to the garden tools.
“It’ll be snowing before long. I heard we might get freezing rain tonight.”
Joy glanced at the sky. Cloudless and blue, it hadn’t changed since her walk to the post office earlier. “Christmas is only a couple of months away. I’m looking forward to the sleigh ride . . . are you?”
He shrugged. “I suppose.”
“I made some new cookies that I’m thinking about serving—on Second Christmas. They’re peppermint.”
“That’s nice.” He rearranged shovels, placing a smaller one in front of the larger one.
“I brought some by the other day for you to sample, but . . . you weren’t working.” Here anyway.
“Peppermint sounds interesting.”
A flutter filled her chest. “I might make another batch on Monday.” She would’ve suggested tomorrow, but Friday was his normal day off. Saturdays he spent making special deliveries, and since this wasn’t their service Sunday, she didn’t expect him to spend the day visiting her when he said the other night he wanted to court other women. “Would you like to try them?”
“You shouldn’t go to all that trouble for me.” He rearranged more shovels according to size.
“It isn’t trouble.” She wrung her hands. “You know how much I like to bake.”
“Jah, I’m aware of that,” he said dryly.
Dead space lingered between them.
He moved toward the door. “I better get back to work.”
“Jah, I have errands to run.” She meandered down the sidewalk and peeked at the department store’s fall clothing display for women’s fashions. The fancy sweaters and coats were nothing she would wear. She was merely loitering. Many times after saying good-bye in the past, Henry would run down the block to catch her and ask if he could see her later that night.
Waste of time . . . The cabinetmaker’s words echoed in her mind. She lifted her chin and proceeded to the post office.
Joy tied a knot in the thread once she completed the last stitch of the block. Working under the flicker of lamplight strained her eyes. She preferred window light, but she’d promised Meredith she would help make a lap quilt. One of Meredith’s jobs at the Quilter’s Corner was to display on the wall the new fabrics and patterns for the upcoming season. The Engischers bought more material when they had a visual to follow, or at least that was what the store owner had told Meredith.
“I ran into Henry,” Joy said. “He was putting a sale sign on a sidewalk display.”
“What did he say?” She snipped her thread.
“Nett much. I did most of the talking, mostly about cookies I plan to make for the Second Christmas sleigh ride and the get-together.” Joy sandwiched a piece of batting between two blue squares of material.
“He already thinks you work too much. Why did you talk about baking?”
“I thought maybe he would understand why I enjoy creating new recipes.” Joy pushed the needle through the material and it poked her finger. “Ouch.” She shook her hand. “He’s sampled all the desserts and helped me pick which ones to serve with hot cocoa since we started courting.” She studied her stitches. “Besides, I thought if I could get him thinking about Christmas, he would remember the first time he held mei hand. I offered to make more peppermint cookies for him to try . . . He was indifferent.”
“I hope you’re nett wasting your time.”
“Henry isn’t a waste of time. Everyone thinks he’s a waste of time. People who don’t even know him—or me.”
“I’m sorry. I meant wasting your time baking for him.” Meredith’s brows crinkled. “What do you mean, people who don’t know you or him? I know both of you.”
Joy groaned under her breath. “The other day I mailed a package of cookies to mei cousin, but I found out someone else received them.”
“What does that have to do with Henry?”
“I sent a letter in that package.”
“And . . . ?”
Joy set her sewing aside and stood. “I’ll let you read the response he sent.” She crossed the room to where her handbag hung on the wall hook and pulled out the envelope. She glanced toward the sitting room where Lois was sitting by the window reading. Joy hadn’t told anyone else about the package mix-up. She removed the letter from the envelope and handed it to her friend.
“Cousin J.?” Meredith looked up at her.
“That’s how I signed mei letter to Emily.”
Her friend resumed reading, then smiled. “You’re upset about the peppermint comment, aren’t you?”
“I’m upset that a stranger read mei letter. I poured my heart out only to discover Emily never received it.”
“I wonder what the cabinetmaker’s name is.”
“Who cares?”
Meredith wiggled in her seat. “You’re nett even a little curious?”
“Nay, I’m annoyed. And I told him so.”
Her friend’s eyes widened. “You wrote back to him?”
“Only to point out how rude he was.”
Meredith handed Joy the letter. “I think it’s intriguing.”
“You can’t be serious.” Joy paused to calm her rising voice. She leaned back in her chair and glanced at Lois in the sitting room. Then she leaned closer and whispered, “The return address on the envelope is a cabinet shop. I’m sure every man in the building read mei letter.”
“At least it’s in another town.”
Maybe so, but ten miles away wasn’t far enough.
Noah read the letter a second time. The woman’s feathers were as ruffled as a hen in the butcher’s hand. Perhaps writing to her hadn’t been a good idea. He tossed the letter on the shop table, picked up a screwdriver, and tightened the hinge on the cabinet door. Mrs. Dowker expected delivery of her kitchen cabinets today, which meant he had to stop thinking about his pen pal and finish attaching the door hinges and knobs.
But redirecting his thoughts was impossible. The woman’s accusations pelted his subconscious like a round of buckshot pellets. Poor mannered, narrow-minded . . .
The shop door opened and his younger sister, Stella, entered. “I just spoke with an Englischer who wants an estimate on cabinets for her business.�
�� Stella handed him a piece of paper. “It’s a motel.”
“Did you show her the board with the wood samples?”
“Jah, I wrote down the ones she wants quotes on.”
“Danki.” He glanced at the information. Scenic Hill Motel was at least fifteen miles away. “What day did you tell her I’d be by to take measurements and give her a quote?”
“Monday.”
“Okay.” He liked that his business was expanding, but to the next county? Traveling fifteen miles by buggy would take two hours one-way. By the time he arrived, gathered measurements, and drove home, he wouldn’t have much time to do anything else.
Stella eyed the cabinets. “The fancy stained glass sure is pretty. Mrs. Dowker will be pleased.”
“I hope so.” He stepped back and admired the way the glass gleamed from the morning sun filtering through the window.
“Mamm wanted me to ask you to pick up flour when you go into town. We’re going to make an apple pie.”
“Jah, sure.” He preferred blackberry, but he’d be crazy to pass up any pie his mom made. His mouth watered as he lined up the next hinge. He turned the screw into the wood and paused. “Do you think I’m narrow-minded?” The moment her brows lifted, he wished he hadn’t asked. He waved his hand dismissively. “Never mind.”
“To answer your question,” she said, walking to the door, “jah, you are.”
That was Stella—always agreeable with regard to his flaws. Noah tightened the screw into place.
“I heard Ruby is coming home. Her sister received a letter from her the other day.”
“She must have run out of money,” he said without looking up from his work.
“Are you going to see her?”
“You said yourself I’m narrow-minded. Nau stop interrogating me. I need to get mei work done.”
Joy whipped the red frosting into a creamy consistency, then dipped her pinky into the bowl for a sample. Perfect. She didn’t know why the man’s comment about too much peppermint bothered her, but ever since she received his unwanted evaluation, she hadn’t been able to erase it from her mind.
She spread a thick layer of icing over each cookie and spaced them out on the parchment paper. Now that the ones she’d baked for Henry were finished, she could get started on the list of items she needed to bake for the customers. Mondays were always busy. In addition to the regular bread orders, the display cabinet needed restocking. On Saturdays she brought everything home for the meal after church or to serve to visitors on no-service Sundays, like yesterday. Only, the visitor she had wanted to serve cookies to never arrived. She tried all afternoon to dismiss thoughts that Henry was probably sitting on Priscilla’s porch swing.
Joy hurried and mixed a double batch of bread dough, then set the loaf pans near the oven so the dough would rise faster. Meanwhile, she made a trayful of pumpkin whoopee pies, fried several dozen doughnuts, and prepared a pot of coffee before the first customer arrived. Joy was ready to sit down and rest a few moments, but instead she flipped the sign in the front window to Open and unlocked the glass door.
An hour passed before the first customer arrived. The Englischer made his doughnut selections quickly, his thumbs working a cell phone at the same time. Joy boxed up the order. The man was so preoccupied that she had to announce the total twice before he dug into his back pocket for his wallet.
Not long after the man left, Mrs. Yoder came in for a muffin and coffee. She brought up her grandson needing a wife again, and Joy said a silent prayer for the woman’s mind. The remainder of the morning crawled by. She had the kitchen spotless and the cookies for Henry boxed when Sarah rushed in the back door.
“I won’t be able to work today. Abram’s mamm asked if I would help with canning.” Her sister set the mail on the counter and sashayed from the kitchen into the store.
Joy clenched her jaw.
“You don’t mind, do you?” Sarah reached under the counter for a pastry box, assembled it, and then filled the container with an assortment of doughnuts.
Her sister shirked responsibility every chance she could when it came to the bakery and dumped the work on Joy. Now she wouldn’t be able to deliver the cookies to Henry. Just once, she wished she could put her foot down with her sister. But forcing Sarah to work at the bakery was like forcing cement through a pastry bag.
“Fine.” Joy motioned to the door. “Go. Have a gut time.”
Sarah poured coffee into a to-go cup and capped it. “Danki,” she said, adding, “You’re the best sister.”
The easiest to push work off on, you mean. Joy grabbed the mail off the counter and plopped down on a stool. Sorting the mail, she stopped on the envelope addressed to “J.”
CHAPTER FOUR
October 20
Dear J.,
Maybe I do have poor manners. As you pointed out, the cookies weren’t mine to eat. But I like to think of myself as practical. The cookies would have gone stale waiting for the postman to figure out the smeared ink on the mangled box. Next time you send a package, you may want to use more tape.
As for labeling me a man who is narrow-minded, you’re probably right. But I spoke the truth as I saw it (from a narrow-minded man’s perspective). Have you ever heard of someone looking through rose-colored glasses? Everything looks pretty—even when it’s distorted. I’m sorry to say that was how you sounded in your letter.
You seem to have taken offense to the advice I “doled” out. But after reading your TEN-page letter, how could I not know you? Are you as chatty in person? You’re hurt, and understandably so. But maybe Henry’s lack of commitment after a year should have been a clue. Even so, is your life really in shambles, as you say? I know you don’t want to hear any more of my advice . . . but I’m giving it anyway. You can choose not to follow it. Love isn’t something you can hold in a vice grip. Releasing your hold is the only way you’ll know if it’s meant to be—and if it returns—well, praise God. Otherwise, dry your tears.
I probably shouldn’t have said what I did in the last letter. I just got the impression you might be a pushover. Before your feathers ruffle, know that I don’t mean that as an insult. Just the opposite. I like your ability to trust. It’s a good quality.
Sincerely,
Cabinetmaker
P.S. If you care to correspond again, would you please send more of those peppermint cookies?
Joy cringed. Thinking back, she realized her letter to Emily probably did sound like a crazy woman’s ramblings. She was angry, hurt, and yes—at that moment—her life was in shambles. She reread the letter. The cabinetmaker knew too much about her. He was right about her being a pushover, too, especially when it came to Sarah. But she was not wearing rose-colored glasses.
Joy poured a mug of coffee, then sat down with pen and paper.
Dear Cabinetmaker,
My eyesight is perfect. I’ve never worn glasses—even the rose-colored ones you spoke of.
The bell over the door jingled. Meredith shuffled inside and plopped down on a chair opposite Joy. “It’s getting colder out.”
Joy shoved the letter aside and stood. “I’ll pour you some kaffi.”
“Where are all the customers?”
“It’s been like this all day.” Joy filled the mug and carried it to the table. “I’m nett complaining. I’ve been here since four a.m. and if it stays like this I might close early.”
“Where’s Sarah this time?”
“Canning with Abram’s mamm.”
Meredith leveled a teaspoonful of sugar and stirred it into her coffee. “Have you thought about hiring someone else?”
Joy shook her head. “This has always been a family business. Mei mamm loved the bakery. She taught me everything I know.” Joy ran her finger around the rim of the mug.
“So what are you working on?” Her friend eyed the pen and paper.
“It’s just a letter.” Joy’s face heated.
“Then why are you blushing?” Meredith smiled. “It’s from him, isn’t it? From M
r. Too-much-peppermint-in-the-frosting Man, jah?”
Joy nodded. “It came today.”
“Don’t leave me guessing. What did he say?”
Before she could answer, a customer entered the shop. Joy slid the letter across the table to Meredith and stood. She took her position behind the counter and, waiting for the woman and young child to make their selections, kept her eye on Meredith’s growing smile.
“We’ll take two of the pumpkin whoopee pies,” the woman said.
Joy placed the items in a small pastry box, then thanked the customer as she handed back her change. Once she and Meredith were alone again, Joy hurried back to the table.
“He seems to know a lot about you,” Meredith said.
“Jah, thanks to mei long-winded rant to mei cousin.”
Her friend chuckled. “Ten pages, according to Peppermint Man.”
Joy rubbed her forehead. “I don’t even remember what I said in that letter.” She shook her head. “I still can’t believe he read it.”
“So are you going to send him more cookies?”
“I may, just to prove mei peppermint cookies are gut.” She cracked a smile. “I made a batch this morning, but those are for Henry.” She glanced up at the door as it opened again. Joy stood and shoved the empty chair back under the table. “Hello, Henry.”
Meredith brushed past them to the door. “I’ll talk with you later,” she said, leaving.
Henry slid his straw hat off and smoothed his hand over his chestnut hair. “I was hoping you would have a few minutes to talk.”
Noah spotted the Scenic Hill Motel once he rounded the bend on Old Route 39 a few miles outside of Sugarcreek. With so much rain this year, a vast majority of the leaves had already fallen, and the rolling hills were not as vibrant with color. He pulled into the motel’s driveway. The sign out front read: CLOSED FOR REMODELING. He didn’t think anyone would need the handicapped parking, and since there was no buggy post, he tied Cracker to the parking sign pole.