Summer of Secrets

by Charlotte Hubbard

  “So you’re gonna get hitched?” Miriam laughed softly and placed a large pan of pie shells in the oven. It was tradition for young folk to court in secret until they declared their intentions to marry, yet she admired Micah for making his plans ... and for including her in them.

  “Ya didn’t hear that from me, ya know!” he replied with a conspiratorial grin. “But I’d make ya a real cozy nest upstairs—”

  “Make a room for Rhoda, too. Ya surely don’t want her around when—”

  “Nah! We can all of us live in that big white house, if ya want!” he insisted. “Plenty of rooms to go around. I could just as easy remodel that place, so you could—”

  “It’s wonderful-gut of ya to offer that, Micah. Denki for your thoughtfulness, but when I had this building constructed, I figured on makin’ my own little dawdi haus above Jesse’s shop.” She smiled at the sturdy young man before her, imagining the fine wee ones he and Rachel would make. “Newlyweds need some time for just the two of them. I wouldn’t wanna interfere with your makin’ me some grandbabies, now would I?”

  Micah grinned, his cheeks the color of strawberries.

  “Truth be told, unless I get old and feeble sooner than I think—”

  “Oh, you’re not nearly there, Miriam!”

  “—I’d like some privacy, too, ya know. It’s different for us, what with all the older ones in our families gone,” she added pensively. “While I wish you and Rachel all the solid, steadfast kind of lovin’ Jesse and I shared... .”

  Miriam paused, wondering how to express the thoughts swirling in her mind. Would a young man like Micah understand? Or would he send her unconventional sentiments along the grapevine, where they’d likely come back like bees to sting her? “Well, now that I’m up before the roosters crow, bakin’ for this business, I kinda like settin’ the day’s schedule around my work instead of around somebody else’s. Does that sound horrible selfish? Like I don’t need or want a man anymore? Or like I didn’t live a fine, happy life with my Jesse?”

  Micah’s deep green eyes were fixed on her in the most quizzical way, as though he’d never considered the possibility of a woman declaring a bit of independence. That wasn’t done amongst the People, where women submitted to their men’s decisions ... except in the quietest, subtlest ways. Because once women were left alone, they often discovered they were perfectly capable of tending their affairs. Perhaps were better at it than their husbands had been! Deliver me, Lord, from uncharitable or self-centered thoughts. Thy will be done ...

  “Sounds to me like both of us’ll get the kind of happiness we’re lookin’ for, if we honor each other’s intentions,” he replied quietly. “Lots of women—my mamm included—appreciate the chance to make extra money here. Dat’s not so fond of her cookin’ at the café insteada at home in the mornin’s, but a man in a wheelchair has to adjust his attitude about a lotta things, ain’t so?”

  “We all know Ezra’d rather be buildin’ with you boys than pushin’ papers at the hospital’s admittin’ desk,” she said with a nod. Nobody plans on falling through a rotten roof they are repairing, after all. Truth be told, the accident had taken as much toll on Naomi as it had on her burly husband. Miriam understood that her best friend worked here as much to keep her spirits up as to bring in more income.

  She brightened, noting the wall clock. “You’d best be gettin’ some shut-eye, young man! But when you’re ready to work on my new apartment, I am, too! And denki ever so much for thinkin’ of me—and for sharin’ your little secret!”

  He fished a tape measure from the deep pockets of his trousers. “Think I’ll have me a look-around and get a few dimensions. Get my head workin’ on the plans so’s I can really steam along once I start the remodelin’.”

  Who could argue with such a sensible way of approaching a project? And who could’ve guessed that beneath Micah Brenneman’s quiet ways dwelt a man who thought things through, and considered others’ needs? Rachel got mighty impatient with him, but she was luckier than she knew to have a prospective husband who had put his ducks in a row before he courted her seriously.

  Miriam lit a lamp for Micah to take next door to Jesse’s empty shop, and then quickly pulled her pie crusts from the oven. Again her gaze flitted to the clock.

  Nearly five. Did she have time to call Sheila now? The Englishwoman often drove her around to deliver her pies, and a call this early—before the girls and Naomi arrived to cook—was her best chance to make the arrangements that had popped into her mind as soon as she’d started baking. Sheila Dougherty was another widow who got her best work done before dawn, and she’d be washing jars or stirring up a batch of strawberry jam before her day of driving the Amish began.

  Hearing Micah’s footfalls fading away, Miriam hurried to the telephone before she lost her nerve. Bishop Knepp allowed the café and the quilt shop to share a business phone in a little booth outside their back doors, but every now and again some personal business needed tending, too. Her finger stumbled over keys as she punched the familiar numbers and she had to start again ... held her breath as it rang, hoping Sheila had her cell phone handy if she was fetching jars up from the basement.

  “Jah, Sheila? It’s Miriam, and I’m wonderin’ could ya drive me someplace Sunday afternoon, early?” she said in a low voice. She waited while the efficient woman grabbed a pen and paper. “I also got a big favor, on account of I’m not sure where we’ll be goin’. I’ll explain all that later—but I need to find where a girl named Tiffany lives. Don’t know her last name—sorry! But her dat lives in Morning Star, I’m thinkin’, and her mother passed just a week or so ago ... jah! If ya could check the obituaries in the paper, that’d be gut, Sheila! Thanks ever so much, and I’ll see ya Sunday around one, then.”

  Miriam hung up, her heart pounding. Had she really arranged to see Tiffany again—and on Sunday, when the Ordnung forbade them to ride in cars? To find out where her daughter lived and possibly meet the man who’d rescued and raised her? It was a bold move, perhaps presumptuous, to show up unannounced at their door—if she had the gumption to knock! But what better opportunity? This Lord’s day wasn’t a preaching Sunday, and the girls were joining their cousins and friends at the Schrocks’ to finish quilts for Mary’s daughter’s first baby ... a bee where the younger women could enjoy each other’s company, along with homemade ice cream, before the singles gathered for a singing that evening.

  Plenty of time to see for myself how Rebecca grew up, and a chance to thank that poor bereaved man for raisin’ her. I’ll take a hamper of easy-to-heat food and fresh bread ... catch another good look at the girl who left here too soon, before we could recover from her appearance enough to really see her.

  Miriam suddenly felt so much joy she shivered. It wasn’t like Rhoda or Rachel would want to go, anyway. And if they found out where she’d gone, well—Sundays were for visiting family, weren’t they? With Sheila along, no one could question her calling on an Englishman, either. And her driver, who’d become an even better friend after Jesse’s passing, would help her through any awkward spots of spending time in a non-Amish household, with folks who might feel uncomfortable about her Plain way of dressing and speaking.

  After all, who could fault a mother, so long denied the presence of her child, for making this effort? Miriam wished Rebecca would return to Willow Ridge to visit, but in her heart she knew it was unlikely. To a girl Tiffany’s age, the differences between Old Ways and her modern-day life would seem irreconcilable. She hoped Tiffany’s dat would understand her reasons for coming ...

  And if he didn’t? Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. Miriam felt such a longing to fill the hole that had hollowed her heart for eighteen years now—felt such gratitude to God for this miracle, and to the earthly man who’d carried it out, she could no more remain at a distance than she could remodel the smithy’s loft by herself. She glanced outside before returning to her work. Micah was vaulting onto the seat of his buggy, barely visible beyond the square of light fro
m the kitchen’s window.

  Grinning, Miriam punched down the sweet, yeasty dough for this morning’s orange knots. She’d mixed the crust for her usual weekend order of pies for three nearby restaurants, too, and would soon stir up muffins and cookies to sell in the front display case. It was going to be a wonderful-gut Friday, what with those chocolate pies for lunch, and Naomi and the girls working with her ... even as her mind flitted like a happy butterfly toward Sunday afternoon’s secret mission.

  Chapter 5

  “I’m writin’ the specials on the board, Mamma,” Rhoda called in from the dining room. “What’re we havin’, exactly? Gut mornin’, Naomi!”

  “Jah, it is, missy! Those sausages and the mornin’s rolls smell so wonderful-gut, I might have to sample some.” Their other cook came in smoothing her fresh apron, ready for another busy day. “And like I told your mamm last night, here comes Nate Kanagy with a wagonload of zucchini and sweet corn. A bushel of cukes and onions, too.”

  “No chance of the Devil findin’ idle hands here today!” Miriam replied with a laugh. “We’ll be servin’ up Italian stew with that zucchini for noon, then. Fresh corn alongside the pork steaks. Those are the specials, Rhoda—along with your secret-ingredient chocolate pie. Tell your cousin Nate he can have a couple extra orange knots if he fetches me five pounds of hamburger and three dozen eggs from Zook’s straightaway.”

  “Jah, I’ll tell him, Mamma. Maybe if I also promise him a big slab of warm zucchini bread, he’ll help me shuck all that corn,” she added. “Rachel wasn’t steppin’ any too lively when I left home this mornin’.”

  “The consequences of courtin’, ain’t so?” Miriam greeted her partner with a smile and then turned on the exhaust fan to create a breeze in the kitchen. “Your boy’s wagon’s likely to be draggin’, too, I’d think. Ah, to be their age again, knowin’ what we know now.”

  Naomi’s brown eyes sparkled with mischief. “And what would ya do different, Miriam?”

  Miriam peered into the largest gas oven, slipped on her long mitts, and removed the first batch of orange knots. Their citrus sweetness filled the kitchen, and as she placed the pan alongside the cinnamon rolls she’d baked earlier, she stopped to think. What would she change? At twenty-one, would she have asked a driver to locate a total stranger’s home, planning to go there unannounced?

  Jah, if it meant findin’ my baby girl, I’d’ve swum that ragin’ river or done anythin’ else in my power. Then again, when Rebecca had disappeared, she’d had two other toddlers and a husband who needed her at home, alive. Time changed how a woman looked at things.

  “Tough question, that one,” she murmured when she saw Naomi was waiting for her answer. “Maybe I wouldn’t let fear get in my way of doin’ what needed to be done. I’d like to think I’d’ve trusted God more, insteada worryin’ so many mole hills into mountains.”

  Naomi’s smile looked pensive. “Jah, there’s that. I can tell ya I’d’ve been frantic—all done in and ferhoodled about the future—had my Ezra taken his fall when we were that young. Still haven’t figured out what purpose God had in mind for it, but I’m waitin’ Him out.”

  “And meanwhile, ya had three sons to step in and take over the shop.”

  “Jah. Guess it’s all workin’ out for the gut, like the Bible promises.” Naomi measured powdered sugar into a bowl and then drizzled orange juice into it. As she stirred the frosting for the orange knots, a fine white haze drifted around her smoky-blue dress and apron. “There’s times Ezra needs convincin’ of that, when the phantom pain in his missin’ legs gets him down. What with him havin’ to take a desk job and me workin’ away from home, life’s not like we planned it when we first married.”

  Miriam sighed along with her best friend. “Who’d’ve thought I’d find myself alone, and not yet forty? Ah, but here comes a chuckle, yonder!” She pointed outside. “Your boys musta stopped to give Rachel a ride, and she’s lookin’ none too happy about comin’ to work!”

  Naomi stepped to the window beside her. While Seth drove, Rachel sat between Micah and Aaron on the bench seat behind him. Her arms were tightly crossed and her voice carried shrilly across the melon patch.

  “Say all ya want about that Tiffany in her black paint! She may be one of God’s children, jah, but she won’t pay you boys any mind!” the slender brunette declared. “You’d best get that moony-eyed look off your face, Micah Brenneman! Stick with the one who’ll make your favorite cookies for the ice-cream social, week from Saturday, and who’s sewin’ a new dress for the occasion, too!”

  Naomi laughed softly. “She makes a gut point. I doubt a girl like your Rebecca will have much time for the likes of us, sorry to say.”

  Nodding, Miriam opened the other oven. “Now there’s somethin’ I coulda done different,” she murmured. “We shoulda found a way to tell the girls about losin’ their sister. Woulda saved us a lot of trouble yesterday.”

  “Ya did the best ya could at the time, dearie. No sense in dredgin’ up the past.” Her blonde friend dipped a pastry brush in her bowl of glaze and expertly swirled it over the warm rolls. “Meanwhile, I’m thinkin’ Rache and Micah are soundin’ like an old married couple. Ya think they’ll get hitched this fall? We’ve been waitin’ long enough for that!”

  Miriam busied herself shifting the large pans of rolls into the metal baker’s rack to clear some counter space. Never let it be said she couldn’t keep her mouth shut, even with her best friend!

  “Micah never gives me a clue about whether this’ll be the year,” her partner chattered on, “even though he’s mighty proud of that new buggy. And even though folks’re sayin’ the economy’s still not the best, the boys’ve had a real gut year with their carpentry shop.”

  Recalling the talk she’d had with Naomi’s son earlier, Miriam merely smiled. “Can’t tell ya a thing about that.”

  “Rachel doesn’t let on, either? She surely must be fixin’ linens and whatnot for her dower chest!”

  “My lips’re sealed, Naomi.” Miriam flashed her friend a mischievous grin as she took the large cast-iron skillets from their pegs on the wall. “We’d best get to cookin’ breakfast so’s we can open on time.”

  Would this day never end? Rachel took the orders at table four, forcing a smile to cover her exhaustion, and then refilled Preacher Hostetler’s iced tea.

  “Denki, Rachel,” he murmured. Poor man kept his eyes down, as if he was ashamed to eat his dinner here with folks knowing how his wife had run out on him a few weeks ago. “Quite a crowd today. Give your mamm and Naomi my compliments on the pork steaks and corn—and can ya bring me more of the same to take with me?”

  “Sure thing. Lemme get ya a carryout box—”

  “And a slice of that chocolate pie, too.” He nodded, lifting his eyes to smile ruefully. “So what’s that secret ingredient ya list on your board?”

  “If I told ya that, it wouldn’t be a secret, ain’t so?”

  When Tom Hostetler laughed aloud, the locals looked up to see what was so funny. And wasn’t it interesting that Priscilla Schrock turned clear around in her chair to gawk at the preacher, who was seated alone? That’s when Micah smoothed back his dark blond hair to give her one of his meaningful green-eyed gazes, too—probably because his brothers and the Kanagy boys were filling second plates at the salad bar.

  “Jah? What’ll it be?” she demanded, of Micah, as she went to the boys’ table.

  “Was it somethin’ I said?”

  Rachel stopped stacking their dirty plates to scowl at him. “How do ya mean?”

  “You’re snappish today. Not your usual cheery self,” he remarked with a shrug. “Just hopin’ I didn’t disappoint ya last night, stayin’ too long—”

  “Matter of fact, Mr. Brenneman, I didn’t get a minute’s sleep on account of I was havin’ a dream about you and that—that Tiffany!” Silverware clattered noisily onto the dirty plates she snatched from the other boys’ places, and it was all she could do to keep from giving Micah the blow-b
y-blow of what her imagination had served up last night.

  “Now let me get this straight,” he said in a low voice. “If ya didn’t get a wink of sleep, how were ya dreamin’ about—?”

  “Just never you mind, all right?” she snapped. “If you’re gettin’ pie today, I’d like ya to say so, instead of piddlin’ around about it.”

  “Soooo ... lemme see.” Micah gazed at the specials board for the longest time, unaware he was scratching the ridge his hat made in his hair. “Chocolate pie ... or that strawberry cream cake, or ... got rhubarb custard pie today? With a scoop of ice cream?”

  She rolled her eyes, exasperated. “I’ll have to check in the kitchen—”

  “Meet me out back with it,” he murmured as he scooted his chair from the table. “I’ve got somethin’ you need.”

  “I’ve got no time for—can’t ya see how busy we are, Micah?”

  “That’s why it’s time for Mamm to spell ya, honey-girl. Can’t have ya bitin’ the customers’ heads off, now, can we?”

  With a gasp, Rachel hurried into the kitchen, clutching dishes she’d stacked too high. Had Micah not been following her, reaching around her at the right moment, the plates would’ve toppled into the dish tub, too—and his efficiency frustrated her all the more. Without waiting for him to speak to his mother, Rachel grabbed a slice of pie, bustled past her sister and slammed the back screen behind her. She stood in the shade between the kitchen entrance and the delivery door to the quilt shop, so upset she wanted to scream and cry and stalk back to the house as fast as her legs would carry her.

  “And what was this dream about, sweetie pie?” Micah stepped outside, Rachel giving him the slice of pie as he did so. “It’s got ya all ferhoodled and we need to—”

  “Will ya stop it with the lovey-dovey names? I’ve had enough for one day!” she exclaimed.

  Micah’s smile sagged and his fork stopped halfway to his mouth. “Sorry, Rache. Tryin’ to wipe that frown from your perty face, is all.”