“And mostly I hope to prove to Rachel—and to you, Miriam—that only gut can come of this reunion with your other daughter. It was meant to be, ain’t so?”
“Jah. Jah, it was,” she murmured, suddenly moved by his fervent voice and the way he squeezed her shoulder.
“So you’ll be keepin’ my work a secret then?” he repeated with a grin. “My brothers know just enough that they’re givin’ me the next few days to work on this project, on account of how this might be somethin’ new and really gut for our business, if it works like I’ve told them it will.”
Miriam sighed happily and tweaked the brim of his straw hat. “Ya don’t know how this pleases me, Micah, to see ya stretchin’ yourself... riskin’ your time and talent and all the while believin’ things’ll work out for the gut,” she remarked quietly. “Reminds me of my Jesse when he was startin’ his smithy business—breakin’ away from the farmin’ his family always did, because he saw we needed a new way of makin’ a livin’.”
“Jah. And he did us all a favor that way—and we still miss him and the gut work he did with our horses.” Micah stepped out of the way to let his burly brothers pass, his green eyes shining. “So when ya hear me hammerin’ and shiftin’ stuff around, ya gotta resist the urge to come checkin’ on me—and ya gotta keep my mamm outta there, too! When it’s all done, you get to see it first. And if ya don’t like it, well, I’ll make it the way ya want it. Least I can do, for the way you’re givin’ up your home to Rachel and me.”
After the ups and downs of this day, Miriam felt ready to cry—until she saw Seth and Aaron wheeling a refrigerator toward the smithy door. “Ach, I never thought to—you’ll be needin’ some up-front money to pay for your—”
“Least I can do,” Micah repeated more emphatically, “for the way you’re givin’ the house to Rachel and me. And if you’re gonna stand here and fuss over what we carry upstairs, then you can just go on home! Time you was takin’ a load off, anyway, seein’s how early you get here to bake each mornin’. Ain’t so?”
His pointed expression left her no room to protest. A grin twitched on her lips and it felt good. Miriam reached into the drawer nearest the door and handed him a key. “No sense in leavin’ yourself open to vandals, close as we are to the road. Like you’re sayin’, the Old Ways’re fine—until other people get new ideas about takin’ advantage of us. You’re a good boy, Micah. I’m goin’ home now, leavin’ it all in your hands.”
Chapter 16
“What is all that racket and poundin’ over there?” Rachel, along with Rhoda, Naomi, and her mother, gazed out the door toward the smithy Wednesday morning as though they hoped to see through its sturdy walls to the carpentry work going on there before the café opened. “Thought Micah was only workin’ after hours—”
“He’s got a new project cookin’. Somethin’ he got the idea for while he was at Tiffany’s,” Miriam remarked. “And I promised him we’d not be goin’ over there to nose around. That goes for all of us!”
Naomi shook her head good-naturedly as she dumped a steaming pot of spiral pasta into the colander. “He was all hush-hush about it yesterday. Top-secret idea, he said—and even his brothers don’t know enough about it to let on. Haven’t seen Micah this excited over a job in a gut long while.”
“Guessin’ by the boxes they tore down and threw in back, he must’ve carted new sinks and a shower stall and who knows what-all up there after we left yesterday.” Rhoda gently pressed labels on the fresh pies she’d wrapped for the front counter, her face alight with the guessing game they played. “Even saw a couple big cartons, flat, like for mattresses. Mighty excitin’, to think of a whole new home up there. Like Christmas in July.”
A rapid-fire series of high-pitched whines progressed across the entire smithy wall ... screws being driven by a battery-powered screwdriver. Rachel raised her eyebrows at the noise; at the same time she was stirring her skillet of sizzling sausage. As she cut the larger clumps with the edge of her spatula, she wondered exactly how his visit with Tiffany had sparked such a burst of building. But hadn’t Micah asked her to have patience and faith?
Patience and faith, she repeated to herself. If I had more of those, life might be ever so much easier ...
Not that she felt any more confident, knowing where Micah had gotten his inspiration for the one-man work frolic going on next door. How could spending last Saturday night with her black-sheep sister give him such fine ideas that he was working in the smithy loft instead of with his brothers on their shop orders? Rachel bit her lip against her rising doubts. As she stirred the eggs, milk, and seasonings for the morning’s breakfast pies, she planned her questions for when Micah came over to eat. Surely he’d tell her what he was building up there!
“Here’s your glass pans, all sprayed and ready, missy! If you’ll get your head outta the clouds, I’ll put those pies in the oven when they’re ready,” Naomi teased.
Rachel realized then that everyone else in the kitchen was watching her. Had she done something absentminded? Or given away her jealous thoughts about Tiffany? “Won’t be but a minute!” she blurted. “Have we got enough of the Cheddar Jack, Rhoda? Tastes better on this spicy sausage than plain Cheddar, I’m thinkin’.”
“Either one’s gut, but we’ll be needin’ more, come time to make the Italian green bean casserole for lunch.” Her sister joined her at the center island to top each of the pies with the cheese after Rachel had poured batter over the sausage. These pies made their own luscious topping and crust as they baked, and there was never enough to fill all the orders, no matter how many they made!
Is there a message here, about My patience and grace never runnin’ out—no matter how many times you need it? Love is an ever-flowin’ stream, you know.
Rachel stopped pouring batter to consider what this thought might mean. It wasn’t a common, everyday thing to think such messages might come to her direct from God: Why would He be contacting her? Especially while she was making and serving breakfast, as she did every morning?
But if God was tapping her on the shoulder, maybe she should pay attention! Maybe the bishop was coming back to challenge Mamma—or propose to her. Or maybe Tiffany would make her next move. Or—
“You all right, Sis?” Rhoda waved her hand up and down, grinning. “For a minute there, ya looked a little ferhoodled.”
Rachel blinked. Aromas of cooked sausage and Mamma’s zucchini cornbread reminded her she was back in the café’s kitchen ... that she’d never left, even if her thoughts had taken her away. She shrugged and finished scraping the batter from the bowl. “We all get confused that way now and again, ain’t so? Just hopin’ there’s a slice of this pie left come time for my break.” So maybe my faith and patience won’t run out when I really need them.
The breakfast shift was in full swing, most of the tables full, when Rachel realized no one had called to get more cheese for those Italian green bean casseroles on the lunch menu. As she headed for the phone shanty out back, she caught Naomi’s eye. “Anythin’ ya need from Zook’s besides that shredded cheese?” she asked above the chatter in the dining room.
“Jah, have them send a couple bags of Italian seasoning and—”
The phone rang and Rachel rushed out to the little white building. Chuckling at herself, she answered on the third ring. “Sweet Seasons Café, this is—”
“Miriam, it’s Lydia! Ya won’t believe it, but I think your Rebecca’s here in the store!” the grocer’s wife said in a low, insistent voice. “She got black hair stickin’ up like little pitchforks? And black fingernails, like she’s a witch, ain’t so?”
Rachel blinked. While Lydia Zook’s description was accurate, it was anything but flattering. Nor would it make Mamma feel any better about the daughter who’d already raised the bishop’s eyebrows. “Jah, that’s our Rebecca. Goes by Tiffany now,” she replied, somehow keeping her voice composed.
Why would Tiffany be in town? And shopping for groceries this early? Even as her heart pounde
d faster with suspicions and doubts, Rachel felt the urge to set Mamma’s friend on the higher road as far as spreading stories about this surprise visit from her ... her own sister. There might come a time when it was important for the Lantz women to stick together—and hadn’t she always been the one to speak up?
“Tiffany comes from the same stock as Rhoda and me, so I’m thinkin’ she’s no real threat to ya,” Rachel continued in a lighter tone. “The Lantz blood’s thicker than that flood water that carried her off, too, so we’re tryin’ not to judge that book by her cover.”
“Oh, Rachel, it’s you! Well, jah, I wasn’t meanin’ to—”
Had she just defended the English girl who’d thrown her life into more than one tailspin lately? Did that explain the sense of calm she felt as she listened to Lydia’s apologetic chatter?
Rachel turned to hide a smile from anybody who might be following this conversation, peering in from the kitchen or the quilt shop, mere steps away through both of the back doors. Not five minutes ago, Micah had come down from the loft for his breakfast. As he joked with Nate and Bram Kanagy, his smile had made something bubble up inside her. Why not surprise everyone by daring this situation to work out? Hadn’t Micah already taken such a risk by spending time with Tiffany?
“Lydia, I was just gonna call ya for some shredded cheese—plain Cheddar, and some Cojack. Five pounds each. Need a couple bags of your Italian seasoning, too,” Rachel said when Mrs. Zook had paused. “I’m thinkin’ Rebecca’s comin’ here anyway, so why not ask her to bring our order? Mamma’ll be real pleased to see her.”
Lydia gasped. “Well, I reckon I could ... ya don’t s’pose she’ll leave that cheese in her car too long on this hot mornin’ and—”
“No need to be afraid of her, Lydia. Underneath the dye and ghouly makeup, Tiffany’s ... well, she’s a lot like Rhoda and me,” Rachel reminded her. “But if she says no, send Jonah with it. Tell him Mamma made rhubarb pie today—and his favorite rhubarb crumb cake, too.”
“Ach, I plumb forgot! We sold the last of your mamm’s pies yesterday! Got some fresh ones ya can spare?”
Rachel closed her eyes, recalling what they’d placed inside the glass case this morning, and what they’d already sold. “Couple of gooseberry and a couple of peach be all right? I don’t want to run us any shorter than that till Mamma makes more.”
“Jah, that’ll be—oh ... now where’d that girl get off to?”
Rachel heard voices in the background at Zook’s store, and then the whine of Henry’s saw as he cut some meat. She already sensed what Lydia was about to say, and her heartbeat sped up a notch.
“Gonna have to send the boy, I s’pose. Seems, uh, your Tiffany’s up and left already.” Mrs. Zook sounded downright relieved.
“That’s fine, then. Your pies’ll be waitin’.”
“Jah. Tell your mamm hullo.”
As Rachel hung up, she smiled at the scene that had just played out ... at the way her sister had intimidated the storekeeper’s wife so badly, Lydia had stalled to keep from talking to her. Tiffany hadn’t done anything but show up, yet Lydia Zook was all in a dither—
Kinda like you, ain’t so? Tiffany just showed up, and it’s been you gettin’ all twisted around like a pretzel.
Smiling at this revelation, Rachel returned to the café and circulated at her tables, picking up dirty plates and refilling coffee cups. Now that she realized how her sister affected Plain men and women—in different ways, but with the same effortless power—it might be fun to watch her come into the café this morning. Could get mighty interesting, too, considering how Hiram Knepp and Gabe Glick, their other preacher, were coming down the road in the bishop’s buggy.
And sure enough, from the other direction, here came a bright red car. It slowed as it approached, but then passed on by ... turned in at the next lane, and then headed back toward the Sweet Seasons again.
Rachel came away from the window and wrote out three tickets, resisting the urge to warn everyone in the kitchen about Tiffany’s approach. It just seemed right to let things play out, without trying to direct or control this situation—and without getting upset about it.
Chapter 17
“Mornin’ to ya, Rachel.” Gabe Glick looked a hundred if he was a day, so stooped his pale beard came to the center of his chest. He squinted through his rimless glasses. “Me and the bishop’ll be wantin’ a table in back. Think Tom’s gonna join us.”
Rachel gently took his elbow. “Kinda tight between these tables,” she said up close to his ear. “We’ve got a place in the back corner, right next to the buffet table.”
“Jah, des gut. Noisy crowd today, ain’t so?”
As she escorted the old preacher past the north window, she glanced outside: Tiffany was slamming her car door and looking toward the café. Not belligerent, exactly, but even in that bright pink shirt, her black hair, skintight jeans, and heavy mascara announced her as a challenge.
Rachel nipped her lip and pulled out a chair for Gabe. Why had she sensed this was coming? Would it be a showdown—a Willow Ridge version of Armageddon? The forces of good fending off evil? That seemed a little melodramatic, maybe, but it was for sure and for certain things could get mighty hot in a hurry. She felt surprisingly calm, almost eager to watch, as though she’d set this ball to rolling and been put in this time and place to witness an event that would set the course for her family—maybe even Mamma’s café—by the time the breakfast rush was over.
“Good morning, Rachel.” Hiram came in behind them, wiped his freshly washed hands on his napkin, and then focused on the whiteboard’s menu for the day. “Bring us three plates of that sausage pie special and a pot of fresh coffee.”
“Comin’ right up. Got cantaloupe and watermelon on the buffet, gut and sweet, plus Mamma’s special cornbread, so help yourselves.” Rachel met his gaze and then made her way between the chattering ladies at the next tables to the coffeemaker. Nothing in Bishop Knepp’s dark eyes suggested any more confrontation than usual ... and it wasn’t all that odd for these three elders to eat together.
Yet when the door opened again, Rachel stood straighter, listening rather than turning to watch people’s reactions. “Need three orders of the sausage pie,” she called into the kitchen as she filled a carafe for the brethren. “Gettin’ low on cornbread, too.”
“Jah, I got that comin’,” Rhoda replied as she lifted a big basket of the muffins. She came quickly from the kitchen and then stopped, wide-eyed. “Oh. Looks like cornbread’s not all we got comin’, Sister.”
Tiffany Oliveri stood by the cash register, gripping the big black purse slung over her shoulder, surveying the crowd. Preacher Tom stepped inside and stopped behind her. He spotted Hiram and Gabe in the back, yet was too polite—or too startled—to slip around the spike-haired young woman who stood out in this conservative morning crowd.
As one, Rachel and Rhoda went toward them.
“Tiffany, it’s gut to see ya!” Rhoda said, extending her steaming basket. “How about one of Mamma’s corn muffins while we find you a spot?”
“Your table’s waitin’, Preacher,” Rachel said from behind her. “I was just takin’ your coffee over there—but first I’d like ya to meet our sister, Tiffany. The one who found us last week! And Tiffany, this is Tom Hostetler. Runs a dairy farm when he’s not conductin’ services of a Sunday.”
Neither of them looked certain of what to say, but good manners carried the moment. Tom nodded, smiling as he looked from one face ... to another ... to the third. “It’s gut to meet you, young lady. Quite a story, about your washin’ away all those years ago and now comin’ back. And jah, it’s a sure thing you three perty girls are sisters.”
When Tiffany smiled, she looked altogether different—even with those dangly pewter earrings and three heavy chain necklaces. “Yeah, it was a big surprise to all of us. Nice to meet you, Tom.”
He seemed relieved to follow Rachel into the crowd of familiar folks, several of them his Plain neighbo
rs. Then he waved to his two companions. “I’ll take this coffee on back. You’ve got other folks to see to.”
“Thanks ever so much for understandin’. I’ll be right there with your plates.” Rachel exhaled: first encounter and all was well.
As she looked at Tiffany, still near the cash register with Rhoda, Rachel recognized hesitation ... even fear, beneath all that metal and makeup. Maybe, like the Plains Indians long ago, her English sister wore so much paint to appear fierce and invincible. Yet in this roomful of strangers—where most folks knew who she was—the girl in black didn’t seem so bold or brazen.
What if it were me standin’ there, not knowin’ a soul?
Rachel wasn’t sure where this idea came from, but it seemed this day was made for surprises. She strode through the crowd in Tom’s wake, to pluck the fourth chair from the men’s table. “Be right back with your food,” she chirped, and then she carried the chair over to where Micah sat with his friends.
“Best be on your gut behavior, fellas,” she warned as she motioned to Tiffany. “Not every day ya get to sit with a guest like this one.”
Nate, Bram, and the two other Brennemans seemed utterly ferhoodled when the girl in black took the chair on the end, next to Micah. Micah, however, grinned broadly—first at Tiffany and then at Rachel. Was the special glimmer in his green eyes for her ... or for her unconventional sister?
“Tiffany! This is Bram and Nate Kanagy,” he said as each of them nodded mutely, “and the two blond jokers across the table are my brothers, Seth and Aaron. What brings ya to Willow Ridge so bright and early this mornin’?”
Before Tiffany could answer, Micah’s arm shot out to catch Rachel around the waist. “Time for your break, so’s you can join us, ain’t so, Rache? I’m thinkin’ since Nate’s finished eatin’, he could spell ya for a bit—”
“Gut way to get all your dishes broke!” their friend protested.
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