by Ruth Reid
“I know. I found out Sarah told her about us closing.” She burrowed the toe of her boot into the snow. “I’m sorry. I’ve been wrong about a lot of things lately.”
“Does that include stopping your correspondence with the cabinetmaker?”
She shook her head.
So much for trying to reopen the subject. “Why did you stop writing?”
“You’ve asked that before. It’s none of your business.”
Noah untied the reins from the post. It was time to leave.
“It wasn’t right to keep letters going back and forth with a man I didn’t know,” she blurted. “Our correspondence was due to a mistake from the beginning. He received a box of cookies and a letter I had written to mei cousin. He wrote me back and from there we started exchanging letters.” She looked down. “I stopped because . . . well, I’m confused.”
“A few weeks ago I was in the bakery when a man came in. He said after the Christmas sleigh ride, nothing would stand in your way.”
“That was Henry. We were courting at the time mei parents died, and when I took on the bakery after their death, Henry and I drifted apart. He blamed the bakery for taking too much of mei time, so when he heard it might close, he thought nothing would stand in the way of our getting married.”
It pained Noah too much to listen to more talk about Henry and her confusion. He couldn’t offer any advice. He hadn’t heeded his own advice. He’d fallen in love again.
Noah cleared his throat and motioned to the box in her hands. “Is that for me?”
She smiled. “Jah. I saved all the peppermint cookies for you.”
“Danki.” He set the box on the buggy bench and reached for the gift he’d brought her. “This is for you.”
Her eyes widened like a child’s as she stared at the small brown wrapped package with its twine-tied bow. “I don’t know what to say. I only gave you cookies.”
“Mei favorite ones and that means a lot.” He grinned. “Are you going to stare at it or open it?”
Joy pulled the twine and unwrapped the package. Her eyes welled with tears as she slowly lifted the glasses from the wooden box. “They’re rose colored,” she said.
“Read the note.”
She removed the piece of paper he had tucked inside the box.
For a beautiful woman who sees things more differently than anyone I know. You said once that your vision was perfect and you didn’t need glasses, but I wanted you to have these anyway. I hope one day you’ll wear them when you look at me. Maybe then you won’t see all my flaws.
Sincerely, Your Pen Pal
She sniffled. “Will you tell him danki for me?”
“You can tell him yourself.” He motioned to the glasses. “Let’s see how they look on you.”
She shook her head. “It’s late and it’ll probably keep snowing and you have a long drive ahead of you and—”
“Joy,” he said.
She swiped her hand over her tear-streaked cheek. “I have to go back inside.”
He nodded, opened the buggy door, and looked over his shoulder at her. “I hope you work out whatever it is standing in your way.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Erasing the daily specials board on the wall of the bakery was like erasing a big section of Joy’s life.
Lois sidled up beside her. “I’m glad we decided to do this today instead of last nacht.”
“Me too.” Joy had lost her desire to stay at the get-together after Noah left. She hid in the back room behind the storage shelves most of the night.
“Are we loading the kaffi cups?” Sarah asked.
“Jah, apparently Mrs. Paddock plans to buy mugs with a horse-and-buggy design on them.” Lois rolled her eyes. “She thinks she’s going to make the bakery more Amish by having fancy stuff.” She motioned to the wall with the specials board. “She said something about taking down the slate board and putting up one that’s lit.”
The front door opened despite the sign in the window that read Closed. Mrs. Paddock sashayed inside with a man dressed in jeans and a gray leather jacket.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she said. “I brought my assistant with me so we can discuss the changes.”
“That’s fine. We’ll try to stay out of your way,” Lois said. She turned to Sarah and Joy. “Matthew’s mamm is watching the children and I told her I wouldn’t be long. If you two don’t mind finishing, I’ll take this load of crates home.”
“There isn’t much more to pack,” Sarah said. “I’ll help you get it loaded.” She took a step and paused. “Are you coming, Joy?”
“Jah, I’ll be there in a minute.”
Joy eyed the woman dressed in a short skirt and open-necked blouse and wearing bracelets that jingled like sleigh bells. Had this woman baked anything in her life? The man she introduced as her assistant jotted notes as she dictated. Every so often, he stopped writing to adjust his purple-rimmed glasses higher on his nose.
“I think we should consider expanding the front,” she told the man. “We can change out the display cabinet. I’ll have the cabinetmaker build something more rustic.” The woman whirled around to face the window. “What do you think about all of this being stained glass?”
The man nodded and wrote something on his pad.
“Yes,” the woman said, agreeing with herself. “If the name was worked into the glass design, we could remove that hideous sign on the building.”
“Excuse me,” Joy said.
The woman turned. “Did you need something?”
Joy swallowed hard. “Did I hear you right? You want to take down the sign?”
“It’s old and it doesn’t fit the décor.” The woman eyed Joy from kapp to shoes. “Are you the baker?”
“Jah.”
“Good. We can discuss the menu changes I want to make.” She glanced at her assistant. “Make a note to check on uniforms. Something bright and cheerful.”
Joy shook her head. “I don’t think I can work for you.”
“But that was part of the agreement.”
Until the woman stepped closer, Joy hadn’t realized how short she was compared to Mrs. Paddock.
“I plan to line up tours by the busload to see an authentic Amish bakery in operation.”
Joy ran her hands down the sides of her dress. “I do my baking at four in the morning.”
“That’s easy enough to fix. Everything nowadays can be shipped frozen.”
“Frozen!” Joy’s stomach knotted. “Then you’re not interested in the homemade breads and pastries?”
“We might make one or two items. The majority will be brought in so we can cut waste and run more efficiently.”
The man nodded. “You’ll get used to commercialization.”
“But I won’t ever get used to being the product you’re trying to sell.”
“I know this is all new and it’ll take some time to adjust. Take a few weeks off and relax. Go somewhere on vacation. It’ll take that long to get the remodeling finished.”
Joy stormed into the kitchen to give her sisters an earful, but they were gone. She yanked her cape off the hook and marched outside.
Standing near the driver’s side of Abram’s buggy, Sarah waved. “I’ll be in shortly.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Joy untied her mare from the post.
Sarah rushed to Joy’s side and caught her arm as she was about to climb into her buggy. “What’s wrong?”
“None of this is what Mamm and Daed would have wanted. It’s one thing to sell the building, but selling ourselves?” She shook her head. “I can’t watch it happen—I can’t partake in the . . . the phoniness of it all.” Joy blew out a breath. “I have to get away from this place.”
“Where are you going?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be back to finish packing.” Joy sat on the bench and flicked the reins. She figured she would waste a few hours at the fabric store, but noticing the letter and glasses she planned to put in the mail, she decided to take a longer dr
ive.
Joy found the cabinet shop without much difficulty. The long drive gave her time to calm down. Now she wasn’t sure dropping in uninvited was a good idea. But she climbed out of the buggy and scanned the area. The shop was almost as large as the barn set back on the property. A white two-story house with a large porch and forest-green flower boxes hanging under the windows shared the same driveway.
Joy wasn’t expecting a woman to open the shop door.
“Can I help you?” the young woman said.
Maybe driving over here was the wrong thing to do. She could pretend to be lost and ask for directions back to the main road. But she couldn’t let things go unsaid any longer. “I’d like to see the cabinetmaker.” Joy walked closer to the shop.
The woman opened the door wider. “He isn’t here right nau, but I can show you some samples.” She walked over to the far side of the room and pointed to a board displaying different types of wood. “Are you doing a kitchen? Mei bruder can build anything.”
“Your bruder?”
She nodded. “He’s a very gut cabinetmaker.” The girl’s gaze dropped to the wooden box in Joy’s hand. “What’s that you’ve got in your hands?”
“I, um . . .” Distracted by the warmth that flooded her cheeks, Joy was unable to respond.
The woman smiled. “I shouldn’t be so nosy, but I take it you’re nett here to see any kitchen cabinet samples, are you?”
“Nay, I was hoping to talk with your bruder. But I can do it another time.” Joy turned toward the door.
“It’s close to suppertime, he won’t be long.” The woman motioned to another door on the opposite side of the office. “You can wait in his shop. It’ll give you a chance to see some of the projects he’s working on.”
“Are you sure he won’t mind?” Joy didn’t want to impose, but she was curious to see his craftsmanship.
“He won’t.” She opened the door. “I’d give you a tour, but I have a few things I need to do first. By the way, I’m Stella.”
“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Joy Stolzfus.”
Stella smiled, backed out of the shop, and closed the door.
Joy scanned the room. Piled lumber took up the far wall while an assortment of tools hanging from pegs took up another. In the corner sat a wooden chair next to the potbelly woodstove. A few miscellaneous cabinets with customer tags dangling from the handles were off to the side. She circled the long wooden worktable in the center of the room, not intentionally snooping, but too curious not to look at some of the paperwork. She spied a copy of the heart of roses quilt pattern and a small box of stained glass pieces and gasped.
The door opened and Noah appeared, a blank expression on his face.
“You’re the cabinetmaker.” She lifted the pattern. “I thought you did stained glass.”
He stepped closer. “I do both.”
“I’ve been such a fool!” Joy tossed the pattern on the table, stormed past him, and shot out the door. She untied Candy from the post and climbed onto the bench.
“Joy, wait!” Noah leaped in front of the horse, but his foot slipped on a patch of ice and he fell. He rolled out of the way of Candy’s hoof at the same time Joy was commanding the horse to stop.
Joy jumped out of the buggy. “Noah!” She gasped, dropping to her knees at his side. “Say something, please.” She placed her hand on his shoulder, but when he rolled to face her, tears blurred her vision.
“I’m all right.”
“How bad are you hurt?” She brushed the tears away.
“Don’t cry.” He groaned as he pushed off the ground. Unable to put weight on his ankle, he teetered. “See, I’m fine.”
She placed her arm around his waist and steadied his wobbling. “Let me help you to the haus.”
“Nay, help me into the shop, please.” Noah cupped his hand on her shoulder and drew her closer to his side.
Noah hobbled into the workshop with Joy’s help. Attempting to stop a moving horse was ridiculous, but at least he’d kept Joy from leaving. Having his arm around her waist made the shards of pain worth it.
He reached the worktable and leaned against it, taking the weight off his foot. That was a mistake. She moved out from under his arm, placing too much distance between them. He groaned.
“I’ll bring your chair over to you,” Joy said. “You need to sit and elevate your leg.”
Not the response he wanted. Was it bad to moan in order to elicit her guilt? She had practically run him over.
Joy slid the rocker from the corner of the shop, helped him into the chair, then grabbed a wooden bench next to the table and placed it before him.
Noah grimaced as he lifted his leg up on the bench. He didn’t have to fake his reaction. His ankle throbbed.
“You’re in a lot of pain. I’m so sorry.”
“I’ll be okay.” He blew out a breath—exaggerated, but he was desperate.
“Do you need anything? A cup of kaffi? I could have your sister bring out a pillow.”
“I need your forgiveness.” He reached for her hand, but she stepped out of his reach.
“I’ll ask Stella to check on you,” she said, avoiding eye contact. She turned to the door. “Good-bye, Noah.”
The air left Noah’s lungs when the door shut and Joy was gone. His throbbing ankle wasn’t nearly as painful as his broken heart. He should have listened to his inner voice and told her the truth weeks ago. Now he’d lost her forever. Noah closed his eyes.
Deceived and made to look like a fool by Noah, Joy felt like her life had crumbled like a dry piecrust. At least with a bad crust she could add a dash of milk and fix the problem. Her problems were unfixable. Her heart ached for Noah, for the bakery, for her parents. She wasn’t sure how to start over, but working for Mrs. Paddock wasn’t the answer.
She pulled into the bakery and took a few moments to dry her eyes. Both Lois’s and Sarah’s buggies were there as well as the Englischer’s car. Joy straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin, and marched into the bakery through the back door. The building was cool without the ovens on. Her throat tightened as she looked around the lifeless kitchen. She made her way to the storefront and stood behind the counter one last time. Joy spotted fingerprints on the display cabinet and grabbed the bottle of cleaning solution. She couldn’t let the business change hands with the display smudged. She sprayed the cleaner and for half a second watched the liquid run down the glass. She wasn’t looking through rose-colored glasses now—everything was distorted. “There you are,” Lois said. “Kumm sit with us. We’re going over a few details.”
Joy finished wiping the area, then set the cleaner and rag aside. She nodded at Mrs. Paddock and her assistant as she pulled a chair out from the table and sat between Lois and Sarah.
Joy caught sight of the bakery sign leaning against the wall. Her parents’ dreams—her dreams—now lay in a heap. She pushed back the tears.
“We should have the final paperwork drawn up by next week,” Mrs. Paddock said to Lois. She turned her attention to Joy. “I look forward to you working for me. It should be easier since the line of baked goods will be streamlined and you’ll have less baking.”
“I’ve decided not to accept the job.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Paddock turned to Lois. “This wasn’t what we discussed.”
Lois reached under the table for Joy’s hand. “I thought you wanted to continue working here.”
Joy shook her head.
Mrs. Paddock shifted in her chair. “The offer I made was contingent upon being able to assume the Stolzfus business name and retaining a Stolzfus baker.”
“Who doesn’t need to bake,” Joy added. “That isn’t me. Maybe Lois or Sarah will work for you, but I won’t put my name behind frozen baked goods that are shipped in.” She stood. “I’ll sign whatever paperwork you need me to, Lois, but I won’t be part of this new bakery. I don’t need this storefront to continue selling my baked goods.”
“We can talk about this later at home,” Lois said.
>
“We need to talk about this now.” Mrs. Paddock adjusted her reading glasses and flipped through her paperwork. “I think you’ll find on page eight a noncompete clause.” She tilted her head to look over her glasses. “Do you understand what that means? You cannot sell baked goods within a ten-mile radius for five years.”
Joy smiled. “Then I’ll sell potholders. I think people will buy a potholder if it comes with a free baked good.”
Mrs. Paddock shuffled her papers. “You don’t own your recipes either.”
“I already have ideas for new ones.” Joy left the table. She refused to be a pushover any longer. Her sisters would have to decide which of them wanted to become Mrs. Paddock’s new baker. She grabbed her apron from the kitchen hook and went outside.
The setting sun cast a warm glow of pinks over the snow. A strange sense of peace washed over her.
Noah limped to the door and met Stella as she was coming inside the house. “Did I get any mail?”
She shook her head. “You’ve asked the last three days. Are you expecting something urgent?”
“Nay, I suppose nett.” He shoved his foot into his boot. The swelling in his ankle had gone down enough that he could finally wear them again. Noah removed his coat from the hook beside the door and hobbled outside. Cooped up in the house for three days, he needed fresh air. He ambled over to his shop, not to work, but to be alone.
Noah noticed the rose-colored glasses he’d given Joy on the table and picked them up. He sure messed things up. An envelope with her writing scrawled on the front caught his eye for the first time. How had he missed it? He tore it open.
Dear Cabinetmaker,
The rose-colored glasses are beautiful, but I’m afraid I cannot accept them. My eyesight is no longer clouded. When you didn’t come to the Second Christmas sleigh ride, I realized God had placed you in my life for a short season—until I could see clearly. You should be happy to know, because of you, I no longer see the world distorted as before. I’ve enjoyed our correspondence and friendship and I thank God for you. I might have married Henry if you hadn’t written me back and said all those things.