Summer of Secrets

by Charlotte Hubbard

  “Ferhoodled?”

  “Ferhoodled! Jah!” Tiffany grinned. They turned when the bedroom door creaked open and Mamma poked her head in. “And—just for today—would you call me Rebecca? To my friends I’ll always be Tiffany or Tiff, but—well, Rebecca goes with Rachel and Rhoda, and here in Willow Ridge ... it’s a different world.”

  “It’s family,” Mamma answered with a happy nod. “And I just wish your dat could be here to see the three of ya all together again. You girls’re a sight for sore eyes.”

  A fiercely sweet sadness hovered in the room, but then Mamma brightened again. “Shall we get on back to the café? Gotta clear the tables where the cakes and goodies go, on account of it’s almost one fifteen. Micah promised Rhoda and me a private tour of the upstairs before everybody else gets here.”

  As their mother turned toward the door, Rhoda’s jaw dropped. “Mamma! You’re wearin’ a new dress, too!”

  “And if that’s not the pertiest shade of purple!” Rachel planted her hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow. “And just when did ya whip up all these new aprons and dresses, Mamma? And ya coulda told us you were comin’ out in color again!”

  “And spoil my surprise? Why would I do that?” Mamma looked downright shy, watching their reactions. Then a smile stole over her radiant face. “Figured it was time, after two years and a couple months now. But whatever happens today, don’t ya worry about how it’s all gonna turn out with Hiram and the bakery and what-all. Your mamma’s not nearly out of surprises.”

  Rhoda considered this as they all walked downstairs and along the lane toward the café. Hiram had looked mighty smug about something when he’d paid for breakfast today—but who could guess what the bishop might have in mind, given the way he’d lectured them about becoming worldly and prideful a few weeks ago?

  Mamma and Rachel were pointing out the various vegetables growing in the huge garden as they walked, telling Tiffany—Rebecca for today—about how they grew most of their own food and put it up for winter, and how their aunt Leah provided the honey and a lot of the produce they used in the café this time of year. In her new dress, their mother looked as fresh as the clematis blooms climbing the trellis alongside the porch: yet another sign that things were moving along for the good in all of their lives.

  As they entered through the Sweet Seasons kitchen, Naomi and the three Schrocks shouted, “Surprise! Happy birthday, girls!”

  The tables were covered with fresh white tablecloths. Pink roses and hydrangea blooms from Mary’s flower garden were arranged in vases. Up near the pass-through window, a big sheet cake that said HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GIRLS! was displayed on the center table while nuts, mints, and fresh lemonade stood ready beside it.

  “Oh, you ladies’re too sly!” Mamma exclaimed. “And what a kindness, too, knowin’ how busy we were this mornin’ durin’ the breakfast shift.”

  Eva, Priscilla, and Mary stood in a row, gawking at them. “Well, would ya look at this,” Eva said in an approving voice. “Got three sisters in blue—and a mother like a fresh bouquet of lilacs. Gut to see ya lookin’ so pert and perky again, Miriam.”

  “Jah, I was hopin’ ya had somethin’ like this in mind when ya wanted so much of that twill, couple weeks ago,” Mary remarked with a smug nod. At the sound of footsteps behind them, she turned. “Hope ya don’t mind that Micah gave the three of us and Naomi a sneak peek at the smithy loft. He wanted us to make sure everythin’ was just right, like a woman would have it.”

  And didn’t Micah look fine today in his freshly pressed black trousers and a shirt so white it nearly gave off light on its own? His dark blond hair shone and his cheeks were flushed with anticipation. “You two ready for your tour now? Almost time for folks to be gettin’ here, and—”

  “Mamma, come on!” Rhoda grabbed her mother’s hand, giggling, and hurried over to the smithy and up the sturdy new stairs. For weeks now, she’d heard the pounding and sawing over here, and it was time to see what Micah and Rachel had been working on.

  And when Rhoda topped the stairs, she just gawked—and Mamma stood alongside her doing the same. Instead of lumber studs, Dat’s scrap metal, and a bare-boards floor, they saw one long wall of pale blue and the other painted celery green, with built-in bookcases the color of sunshine. Bright white kitchen cabinets and a sink filled the corner to their left, and a sitting area with cozy chairs and a small sofa sat off to the right.

  “I ... I’d forgotten what clean, new walls looked like,” Mamma murmured. She looked ready to cry. “I can’t believe ya did all this for Rhoda and me.”

  “Oh, just wait till ya see this!” Rachel grabbed a peg on the end of one bookcase, and as she rolled an entire section of wall toward the center of the large room, Rhoda stepped closer to observe the tracks in the ceiling ... the way the camouflaged bookcase divider locked into place with a snap. “And looky how your beds work! Ya pull them down, come bedtime, and when ya redd up the room, they fold right back into the walls!”

  “The only thing you’ve gotta decide,” Micah added, “is who gets the green bedroom, and who wants the blue one. Got the same sort of setup for the bathroom when ya want to fix yourselves up.”

  Mamma walked around that section of wall, studying the sleek yellow bathroom and its new fixtures before she walked through the blue half of the loft. Cautiously she lowered the bed on that side, grinning like a little girl with a new toy. “Rhoda, I hope ya like the green room, on account of how I’m the mother, so I’m sayin’ this side’s mine!”

  “Gut!” Rhoda replied, “because ya know how I’ve always thought green was pertier anyway!”

  “And Micah!” Mamma rushed over to throw her arms around his waist. “It’s even more wonderful-gut than I could imagine. And where’d ya come up with such a way to move these walls? No wonder Derek hired ya straightaway to rework those senior apartments!”

  Micah returned her hug, grinning across the room at their visiting sister ... Rebecca for today. “It’s like I told ya when I got back from seein’ Tiffany, after I’d watched the likes of this on her little bitty computer. Took a couple-three times of seein’ it, but I figured out how that guy from China set up his place, and then I made it work here, too. Ran the ductwork and the pipes from downstairs, had my Mennonite friend install your plumbin’, and we were all set.”

  “For sure and for certain, we are.” Rhoda slowly strolled the length of the apartment. “Can’t wait to move in, Mamma! Say the word, and we’ll shift our clothes and whatnot over here. It’ll be like livin’ in a playhouse, ain’t so?”

  “Won’t take but two shakes of a tail to redd up,” Mamma agreed. With a blissful sigh, she beamed at them all. “Well, now! I hear folks comin’ into the parkin’ lot. Better fetch the ice cream from the freezer and start the party!”

  Chapter 28

  By three o’clock the Sweet Seasons rang with happy chatter: friends filled the tables, exclaiming over the moist strawberry cream cake and coming back for seconds—or a different flavor—of the rich homemade ice cream. Naomi dished up dessert and Mary poured drinks while Eva and Priscilla picked up dirty plates and replenished the serving tables. Micah was conducting tours of the smithy loft, beaming at the awed remarks of all who saw his handiwork. And meanwhile, Mamma collected compliments on her new dress—and smiled profusely at the three of them, her girls all together again, at last.

  With their friends doing the serving, Rachel and Rhoda stood near the cake table to accept birthday wishes—and introduce their sister Rebecca to friends and neighbors who’d heard only about the girl in black. It was wonderful to turn the gossip in a different direction, to prove that good could come of even the most unsettling situations.

  Rachel sighed happily. It was a fine birthday, and her spirits bubbled. Each time Micah brought visitors back to the café, he flashed her the sweetest smile ... the one that said she was the only girl in the crowded room, as though he could gaze at her forever. Twice today he’d mentioned folks who wanted him to install a trac
k wall system for them, to make a pantry more efficient and to build storage space in a shed for gardening tools. What girl wouldn’t love a confident, hardworking man like Micah Brenneman?

  Once the line of greeters had all been seated, Naomi waved the three sisters over. “Cake for you birthday girls now! Two sheet cakes’re gone, but I baked ya two more, so eat up!”

  “I’ll have the blueberry ice cream with mine!” Rhoda insisted. “But you, Rebecca, have to try them all and tell us which is your favorite! There’s so much we’ve still gotta know about ya, Sister!”

  Rachel laughed. Alongside her big square of pink cake, topped with Mamma’s sweet, creamy strawberry icing, she had a scoop of chocolate ice cream and a scoop of vanilla. Rebecca had just decided upon the strawberry, protesting at the size of the serving Naomi heaped on her plate, when the bell above the door jingled again.

  Hiram Knepp entered. He was dressed in fer-gut black trousers and a freshly pressed blue shirt, and as he scanned the familiar faces in the crowd, his gaze lingered on Mamma.

  Rachel held her breath, her fork still in her mouth. It was no secret the bishop had ideas—intentions—now that Mamma had made her confession and put the building up for sale. His expression confirmed that: he took in her new dress and the way she laughed at something Lydia Zook said, back at the table nearest the whiteboard. He passed up the dessert tables— nodded at the three of them without seeming to notice that they were triplets rather than twins—and made his way through the crowd.

  A couple tables over, Tom Hostetler watched the bishop as well. He sat beside Ezra Brenneman’s wheelchair, nodding at the story Seth and Aaron were telling.

  Rachel elbowed her sister. “Looky there, Sis. The bishop’s like a bee headin’ for a flower.”

  Rhoda grunted. “Or a stallion seekin’ out a mare. This might bear watchin’.”

  “Oh, for sure and for certain it does.”

  Again the bell jingled, this time to admit Derek Shotwell and an older fellow Rachel had never seen before. The way the two of them stood together gave her pause, until Rebecca hopped up from her chair. “Come meet my dad,” she urged them. “And if he says anything about my dress, well—”

  “You’re our sister,” Rachel assured her. “Nothin’ he can change about that.”

  “I’m not thinkin’ he wants to,” Rhoda replied as they went toward the door. “He looks very nice. Happy to be here, even if he and the banker are the only fellas without suspenders and straw hats!”

  The loan officer smiled broadly as he took in the three of them. “Happy birthday, girls. And isn’t this quite a party! Must be a hundred people here.”

  “Glad ya could come!” Rhoda replied. “Hope you’re hungry!”

  “And, Daddy, this is ... this is Rachel Lantz, and Rhoda. My sisters.” Rebecca clasped her hands tightly in front of her, looking not at all like the brazen girl in black they’d met weeks ago. “This is Robert Oliveri. He—he goes by Bob, though.”

  The man appeared somewhat older than Mamma, with thinning hair and paler skin than Amish men, who worked in the fields all day. As he extended a hand to Rachel and then to Rhoda, his eyes remained on Rebecca: a touching tug-of-war of emotions crossed his face, from surprise to sadness ... and then to satisfaction.

  “It’s such a pleasure to meet you girls, after the way your mother came over with food that day,” he said beneath the noisy voices around them.

  “And quite a story he’s told me, about how his toddler daughter came to him on a tree that was racing down the flooded river, all those years ago,” Derek added. “Incredible, the way it’s all come together.”

  “Jah, it’s one mighty big miracle,” Rachel replied. She gripped Mr. Oliveri’s hand and then gestured toward the cake table. “Been a while since ya had the likes of Mamma’s strawberry cream cake and homemade ice cream, so don’t be shy! Mamma loves to feed people.”

  “It was the first thing I learned about her. The kind of generosity that brought me out of my deepest grief,” Bob said with a nod. He smiled across the crowded café when he spotted Mamma. “Good to see her smiling again, too. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to see that upstairs apartment Derek’s been raving about.”

  “Oh, jah! Micah’s becomin’ quite the tour guide today.” Rhoda pointed toward the kitchen doorway, where the blond carpenter stood with a huge helping of cake and ice cream. “Tell him to tuck his plate in the freezer so nobody’ll polish it off while he’s gone!”

  Rachel watched the two men and Rebecca follow Micah through the café’s kitchen before she leaned in closer to speak to her sister. “Have ya noticed it? When our sister has that kitty-cat grin on her face, she looks a whole lot like Mamma ... like she knows things she’s not tellin’ us, ain’t so?”

  “Jah, I saw that. Ya think it means somethin’?”

  “Guess we’ll find out soon enough.” She glanced back at Mamma, who now stood with the bishop on one side of her and Tom Hostetler on the other ... not an unusual sight, but somehow mighty important right now. “How’s that blueberry, Sis?”

  “Wonderful-gut. Better have ya some before everybody else figures that out.”

  As Miriam watched Derek Shotwell and Bob Oliveri come from the kitchen, passing up the cake table, her insides tightened. Neither man’s clothing proclaimed they were here on business, but, of course, they stood out because their short haircuts, open-collared knit shirts, and belted slacks proclaimed they weren’t Amish. She’d expected to see them both today ... but together?

  Lord, I’m hopin’ You’ll stand by me, whatever happens next, she prayed quickly. Tom’ll be just fine. It’s Hiram I’m not any too sure about.

  She put on a smile and stepped toward the two Englishmen. “Gut to see you fellas, here to celebrate our girls’ twenty-first birthday. And I thank ya, Bob, for bein’ so gracious as to understand how your girl’s dressed today.”

  His grin unsettled her, yet he looked contented. More at peace than when she’d first met him. “Tiffany’s had some adjusting to do. We both have.” He looked around the dining room, at three thirty still full of friends who chattered like magpies. “I can understand why she wants to come here—wants to be a part of your family even though she was raised in a different culture altogether. But, in the ways that matter, we’re not so different at all.”

  “Jah, I believe that’s the way of it.” Miriam made herself breathe. Why were these men standing shoulder-to-shoulder, looking at her so intently? Good manners stood by her as she gestured toward the bearded man on her other side. “Bob Oliveri, this is Hiram Knepp, my—my gut friend and the bishop of our church district here in Willow Ridge.”

  “Honored, sir,” Bob replied as they shook hands. Hiram nodded, reverting to his reticent manner of dealing with any Englishman: polite, but offering up nothing he wasn’t asked about.

  “Shall we step outside for a moment?” Derek’s gaze encompassed both her and Hiram as he gestured toward the door. “Got some paperwork in the car. Might as well make this official, like we agreed a few weeks ago.”

  “Yes, it’s the perfect time for that,” the bishop replied with a decisive nod. “Any day that Miriam foregoes her black clothing for such a lovely color marks a major transformation, indeed.”

  They walked out into the bright sunlight, Miriam surrounded by three men she sensed held her future in their hands ... but how would it play out? Although she was accustomed to Amish men making the decisions while their women went along, she already knew how part of this story would go.

  But what of the other parts? Why was Bob biting back a grin?

  “Mr. Knepp, as a successful businessman, you appreciate the importance of giving full value—and receiving it—when goods and properties are for sale,” the banker began. He opened the door of a boxy gray vehicle that sat higher than the red convertible parked beside it. “So I hope you’ll understand that when not one but two better offers came along for Mrs. Lantz’s building, I did what any responsible bank officer would do
.”

  Hiram’s face clouded over. “What are you saying? We had an agreement, when I brought Miriam to your office to sign the sale papers—”

  “We had a listing for a hundred and thirty thousand dollars, sir, based upon the appraised value,” Derek continued as he unfolded a sheaf of papers. “That appraisal didn’t include the fine handmade furnishings in the dining room or the commercial kitchen appliances.”

  “Which we agreed could be sold afterwards, to—”

  “Mr. Knepp,” the loan officer interrupted calmly, “if you had one of your prize stallions for sale and one breeder offered you less than the horse was worth, and another man was willing to pay extra because he fully appreciated the fine foals such a stallion would sire, which offer would you take?”

  Hiram grunted, glaring from the banker to Miriam—and then at Bob Oliveri, whom he fully acknowledged for the first time. “We’re not talking about livestock here, Mr. Shotwell!” he said sternly. “When I took you into my confidence, I explained that Miriam was selling her building to prevent her success from standing in the way of her salvation! A matter much more important than horseflesh!”

  Derek’s confident smile did nothing to reassure her, even though Miriam now sensed the way this discussion would end. Her pulse pounded toward a headache while her stomach twisted like a pretzel. She clasped her hands, keeping her silence. If ever there was a time to know her place and accept the decisions these men would reach, it was now.

  Yet something about the soft glimmer in Bob Oliveri’s eyes made her heart dare to hope ...

  “With my respect for the way you Amish separate your church affairs from the ways of the world, I won’t refute your religious convictions, sir,” Derek continued. “But as an officer of the bank, who holds the note on this building, and who has been entrusted to carry out this transaction, I took the better offer. It had nothing to do with personalities, or faith, or anything except buying and selling a building for far more than its appraised value. And that’s what Mr. Oliveri has paid me. In full. In cash.”