“Jah, and the bishop might not like it so well if his breakfast landed in his lap, either.” Rachel grinned. Micah’s arm was still around her, and he showed no sign of moving it. The big smile on her face surprised her, yet it felt like it belonged there as she focused on Tiffany. “If ya can stay till after this early rush, though, I’ll be free for a bit. Gotta go now—but I’ll tell Mamma you’re here.”
Second encounter and still no lightnin’ strikes. Rachel strode quickly into the kitchen to place the three waiting plates of sausage pie on a tray. Rhoda was immediately beside her to garnish the steaming wedges with twisted slices of fresh orange.
“Did ya see the way Seth and Aaron looked ready to—well, I couldn’t tell if they were ready to run on outta here, or to just gawk all mornin’,” her look-alike teased. “That was the last place I figured you’d set her, Sis!”
Rachel shrugged. She didn’t feel like getting into a deep discussion about her change of heart—not when the bishop was waiting for his breakfast. “Keeps her in Plain sight, ain’t so?” she quipped. She looked over to where their mother was drizzling white icing over the cherry-pie bars for the noon menu. “Tiffany’s here, Mamma. Preacher Tom’s met her just now, and I’m thinkin’ it won’t be long till the bishop looks her over, too. I set her at Micah’s table so she’d have somebody to talk to.”
Was that amazement on her mother’s face? Mamma set aside her pastry bag to wipe her sugary hands and smooth her kapp. “She say why she’s here? This is—well, a nice surprise all around!”
“Jah, I told her you’d think so.” Rachel hefted the tray to her shoulder. “Let’s hope the brethren see it that way, too. This sausage pie oughtta keep them busy for a while, anyway—if you’d like to see her, that is.”
“So how ya been, Tiffany?” Micah’s smile broadened as he watched his four tablemates fetch their straw hats, like the day’s work was suddenly calling their names. “Mighty gut to see ya. Didn’t figure you’d be back.”
“Yeah, well—things change.”
He was no expert on women, but Tiffany’s shrug told him more than what she didn’t say: some mighty important things had changed. She fumbled with her muffin wrapper, focusing on it as though she’d find the right words written there. Micah brushed crumbs from the plate his toast had come on and put it in front of her. “Here—that cornbread’s mighty tasty with honey on it. Rachel’s aunt—your aunt—Leah supplies it from her own hives.”
Tiffany’s eyes widened ... eyes so expressive, like her sisters’. For a moment an awkward silence stretched between them—or had the café gone quiet? Micah didn’t look around. Whatever this girl had on her mind—whatever had brought her here—was more important than the opinions of the folks who might be gawking at them.
“I moved out of that apartment. Thought about stuff you’d said—”
Micah agonized while she lifted a chunk of honey-drenched muffin to her lips. When she closed her eyes over it, those long black lashes did something fluttery to his insides. Or was it that little moan, when she chewed and swallowed like she’d never eaten anything so heavenly? He cleared his throat. “So—if you’re not livin’ with your girlfriend—”
“Former girlfriend. You know the guy who brought the pizza? Hayden, her live-in?”
Micah nodded, his insides tightening as he thought of all the possible ways this revelation might go. She was easing another bite of that crumbly cornbread into her mouth with fingers that trembled.
“Well, when he got home that Saturday night, he freaked. Started throwing things at me because you were wearing his—”
“Rebecca—I mean, it’s Tiffany now! It’s so gut to see ya again!” Miriam Lantz bustled around the table and landed in the chair on Tiffany’s other side, her kapp strings aflutter around a face flushed with pleasure. “And don’t ya look perty in pink? I—I miss seein’ you girls in that color, now that you’re all grown up.”
While Miriam made an excellent point—the deep rose of Tiffany’s top gave her pale face a soft, healthy glow—Micah sighed inside. This mother had the right, and every reason, to take a rare chance for conversation, no matter how much he needed to hear the rest of this girl’s story.
“Good to see you, too. Dad says hi.”
Miriam’s eyes shone like hot coffee. “So how’s he doin’ now? And what were ya sayin’ about movin’ out? Are ya home again, I hope?”
Micah blinked. Had mother’s intuition kicked in just from the few words Miriam had overheard before she sat down?
Tiffany smiled, looking shy despite the dramatic black lines accentuating her eyes. “I was telling Micah that the guy—well, let’s just say I realized I could do better than hanging with those two. They fight all the time, about really stupid stuff, and I’m tired of being in the middle of it.”
“Gut for you! And ya know, child of mine, ya have a place to stay here if ya want.” Miriam had lowered her voice and she leaned closer to the young woman beside her. “Ain’t easy dealin’ with a man who’s lost his wife, and ya must have terrible-mixed feelin’s about the whole situation, I’d think. Don’t ya go livin’ on the streets, gettin’ yourself into places ya can’t get out of. Promise me?”
It was almost more than Micah could listen to, this intense exchange. Yet he admired Miriam for cutting right to the bone.
Tiffany nodded as she searched Miriam’s face ... the flawless honesty in her sparkling eyes, framed by brown hair pulled tight beneath her kapp. Their smiles came out like the sun after a summer shower. “I came to tell Micah—and you—that I’ve gone back home, because it’s Micah who made me see it as the better option. He was so ... patient, so decent. Even when I was acting snotty and pretending not to listen.”
Miriam flashed a smile at the burly blond beside her. “Jah, we kinda like Micah around here. When he says he’ll do somethin’, ya can believe it.”
“I don’t know any other guys like that.” Tiffany paused, as though this statement summarized the thoughts she’d tried to pull together. “Those slackers in the pool hall, they—they made fun of his hat and suspenders, and—well, not a one of them cares what happens to me. They never said boo about Mom dying, or—well, they’re only after one thing.” She winced and looked away. “Sorry. That sounds really sleazy.”
“You’re here now, ain’t so?” Miriam reached for her daughter’s hands, blinking rapidly. “I’m ever so happy to see ya, and to hear you’re givin’ your dat another chance, too. Let me get ya some of that nice sausage pie—”
“Could I have bacon and a couple eggs, over easy? And toast with jelly? This cornbread’s awesome, too, and—” She looked down at her empty plate and blinked. “Guess I’m hungrier than I thought.”
“We got just the cure for that, honey-bug. Sit tight.” Miriam got up, grinning through her tears. “If Micah’s gotta leave, I know a couple girls who’re due for their break, now that the crowd’s thinnin’ out.”
“I’m on my own clock today, remember?” Micah’s grin looked wide and confident. “I’ll be here.”
“Here ya be—bacon and two eggs, over easy. Mamma’s homemade cinnamon-swirl bread for toast,” Rachel said as she set the plates before Tiffany. “And here’s that sausage pie I’ve been wantin’ all mornin’. And for you, Micah, one of the cherry-pie bars we’re tryin’ out for lunch. Mamma wants your opinion on that, or you’d be gettin’ no such favors from her, ain’t so?”
Rhoda joined them with a plate of melon wedges from the buffet table. “Be back, soon as I refill the bishop’s coffeepot.”
As Tiffany bit into the buttered toast, her gaze followed Rhoda to the back table. “So that’s the guy who says you get electricity? Or says you’re not supposed to hang with girls who wear makeup and drive fast cars?”
“Jah, that’s Hiram Knepp. The dark-haired one.” Micah took a huge bite and then licked thick, ruby-colored filling from his lips. “I’m guessin’ he’ll be over here to look you over when he’s gut and ready. Nothin’ shy about him.”
/>
“Oh.” Tiffany’s face fell and then she glanced around the dining room, which only had guests at a few tables now. “You got a restroom? Maybe I should go—”
“Nah, don’t go hidin’. He’ll wait ya out.” Rachel closed her eyes over the first bite of her late breakfast, savoring the spice of the sausage and the way the warm cheese flooded her tongue. It was surprising how calm she felt, sitting here beside the girl who’d set her top to spinning so fast before. “And before the bishop says anythin’—about anythin’—I wanna apologize, Tiffany. I had no call to holler at ya last time ya came here. I was just, well—ferhoodled to find out we had another sister.”
“Ferhoodled? What a funny word!” Tiffany looked her straight in the eye then, assessing her ... yet not judging. She smiled as she spread jelly on her toast. “Like when your best friend lets her boyfriend pitch a fit at you, and you blow outta there before you can pack all your stuff? That’s ferhoodled ... jah?”
Rachel’s insides tightened at this information, but she had to grin at Tiffany’s attempt to understand their language. “Jah, it means you’re all muddled and confused and chasin’ your tail—like I’ve been lately. Well, ya know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I do. Losing Mom stirred up a lot of stuff I didn’t expect—besides finding out about you sisters and my birth mother, that is.”
“We had a hard time doin’ without Dat for a while, too.” Rhoda sat down to her breakfast, recalling their struggle as she gazed at them all, but her first sweet bite of cantaloupe brought back her smile. “Mamma’s poured herself into this café ever since, and we’re helpin’ her make a go of it. And to think ya found us here!”
Rachel glanced toward the table in the back corner, sensing she didn’t have much time to say things the way she wanted to. “We most likely seem real odd to ya, on account of our plain-colored cape dresses and our kapps. But understand, just because ya wear English clothes and those chains and whatnot? You’re still family, Tiffany—part of us. Just like your one little pink dress matches up with the two Mamma had packed away. We understand that now.”
“Jah,” Rhoda chimed in. “And we won’t be tryin’ to make ya Plain—unless ya wanna be! It’s tough for Englishers to change over to the Old Ways. Classes to take on our beliefs, before ya join the church, and a whole new language to learn—not to mention givin’ up your jewelry and jeans and makeup!”
Tiffany laughed with them. “I’ve gotta say I like the guys in their suspenders, though,” she remarked with a playful wink at Micah. “Do your brothers and the Kanagy boys all have nice Amish girlfriends?”
“Not that they admit to,” Micah replied. “We keep our courtin’ a secret, mostly, till we intend to marry. But ya can’t miss who’s drivin’ which girls around in their buggies of an evenin’.”
“And some couples aren’t quite as gut at keepin’ quiet about it,” Mamma hinted as she and Naomi set their plates on the table. “Tiffany, this is Micah’s mamm, Naomi Brenneman. My fine cook she is, too. Couldn’t run this place without her!”
Tiffany smiled around a big mouthful of bacon and eggs. And as the chatter continued among the six of them, Rachel realized how smoothly it was going ... how nice it felt to sit and enjoy their food together rather than forking in whatever was left from breakfast while they prepared for the lunch crowd. A movement behind them made her turn: Tom Hostetler tossed his napkin onto the table and hurried through the center hallway into the quilt shop. And it’s a sure thing he’s not shoppin’ for fat quarters of calico.
Mamma, too, took note of his exit and glanced over to where Hiram and Gabe remained seated. “I’d best see if they’d like fresh coffee, or—”
“I’ll get it, Mamma. Ya just sat down.” Rachel walked quickly between the sturdy oak tables, empty except for theirs and the brethren’s, to fill a clean carafe. Something about the way the two men talked with their heads together warned her not to intrude ... but she was doing her job, checking on their guests. Wasn’t she?
“... see what ya mean about that girl and her unnatural getup,” Gabe was murmuring. “Lantz or not, her type could cause problems ...”
Rachel ducked in quickly to set the coffee on their table. “Can I get ya anythin’ else?” she asked brightly. “Got fresh cherry-pie bars Mamma made for lunch, to go with this coffee. Or if ya want your check—”
“We’re fine. Thank you, Rachel.” Bishop Knepp gave her a purposeful look.
She put on a smile. “If ya need somethin’, holler. And when ya get a minute, we’d like ya to meet our sister.”
Back to the table she walked, wishing she hadn’t overheard that snippet of talk. If the elders wanted to talk about problems in their district, why didn’t they do it private-like? Maybe she shouldn’t have mentioned coming over to meet Tiffany—
“Everythin’ all right, honey-bug?”
Rachel noted the glow on Mamma’s face and decided this wasn’t the time to spoil things with gloom and doom. “Wouldn’t call it a tea party at the bishop’s table, but jah, they got what they need for now.”
Naomi and her mother exchanged a glance—but then Mamma smiled, suddenly excited. “And speakin’ of parties, we need to be thinkin’ about you girls turnin’ twenty-one soon, ain’t so? Especially now that our other chick’s come back to the nest!”
“That’s somethin’ to celebrate, for sure and for certain!” Naomi agreed. “Must make ya feel mighty fine, Miriam, to have your three girls all at the same table again.”
“Jah, it sure does.” Mamma blinked rapidly and then grasped Tiffany’s wrist. “Understand, we’re not expectin’ ya to give up your ways, or—we just love havin’ ya here with us, Daughter. Not a birthday’s gone by for Rachel and Rhoda that I didn’t—just for a minute—think of you cuttin’ into that cake, too.”
Tiffany looked like a cornered cat, or maybe just flustered by this sudden upswelling of emotion. But then she relaxed again. “I’ve always loved birthday parties—”
“Us, too!” Rhoda blurted out.
“What a gut idea! Please say you’ll come!” Rachel insisted as she sat down beside Tiffany again. “We’ll make ice cream—”
“And strawberry cream cake—our favorite!” her sister added with a grin.
“—and you can see if ya recall anythin’ about the house, and—well, because ya know how it is, after one sister gets hitched,” Rachel continued earnestly. “Just won’t be the same kind of party as when we’re all still girls!”
“I’m thinkin’ that might be a gut time to show off the apartment in the smithy, too,” Micah joined in with a sly smile. “Was kinda hopin’ for that to be part of the birthday surprise this year.”
Tiffany’s gaze flitted among them as she followed this happy chatter. She was sitting tall, looking pleased to be included in these out-of-the blue plans. Yet she was nipping her lower lip. “So ... what day is our birthday, really? I’m guessing Mom and Dad celebrated on May fifth because, well—that’s the date on the birth certificate, which we now know belonged to the first Tiffany.”
A stunned silence fell. What did it feel like to be this old, yet to find out for the first time when your birthday was? And how ... second-fiddle must it feel, to realize you’d been a fill-in for your parents’ natural-born child? Rachel gripped Rhoda’s hand, and then—hoping she wouldn’t seem pushy—she took Tiffany’s hand, too. “August fifteenth. Gonna be the nicest birthday we’ve had, too—for sure and for certain—if ya come meet our friends and—”
The loud scraping of chairs across the room made them all look up. Rachel reached for her ticket pad and then froze: Tom Hostetler had come back with Reuben Reihl in tow, and now all four of the brethren were looking their way. Even without their black hats and vested suits, their Sunday fer-gut clothing, they made a somber-looking bunch. Hiram Knepp approached with the others behind him, all of them with grim, bearded faces.
Like goats goin’ to a funeral, Rachel thought. And then she immediately added, God, I hope you’ll forgive
my sass and stand beside us now. This looks like somethin’ we won’t wanna hear.
“We’ve discussed this subject before,” the bishop began, directing his gaze at Mamma and then at Micah. “But now that we’ve all seen this Englisher who’s distracted you two from following your promises to the church, we must advise you that your sin won’t go unnoticed. We’re going into private session now, quite probably to initiate the required discipline at Sunday’s service.”
Chapter 18
Rachel’s heart thudded. She gripped her sisters’ hands—refused to let go when Tiffany tried to pull away. It was one thing to behave as a bishop, who took charge of keeping his flock on the path toward salvation; it was downright rude to talk about Tiffany as though she weren’t sitting right in front of him.
“And just what are we talkin’ about, exactly?” Naomi asked in a strained voice.
Hiram clasped his hands in front of him, as he often did when he was preaching. “This concerns matters I’ve discussed—twice now—with Miriam and Micah. Unfortunately, neither has heeded my strong suggestion to eschew the dubious company of—”
“How about ya say it in plain talk? I’m a Plain woman.” Naomi’s brown eyes flashed as she rose slowly from her chair. “And if you’re meanin’ to put the ban on my Micah—and maybe Miriam, as well—it’s an obvious concern to me, too, ain’t so?”
Rachel and Rhoda exchanged cautious glances. It wasn’t like Naomi—or anyone else—to challenge Bishop Knepp. He did speak in an elevated tone and use a vocabulary they knew only from their dictionary work in school, because that was part and parcel of his esteemed behavior as their leader.
“Naomi, let it be,” Mamma whispered. “We’ll work this out—”
“This is the support of my family we’re talkin’ about!” Mamma’s friend countered. She gripped the back of her chair—furniture from her sons’ cabinetry shop—barely restraining her anger. “If ya shun Micah—don’t allow him to go to jobs where Seth and Aaron gotta work with him—they can’t make gut on their backlog of orders! And if ya force Miriam to stop her bakin’ here, the Sweet Seasons’ll close for sure and for certain!”
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