Muffins & Moonbeams

by Maddrey, Elizabeth

  There was a quiet tap at the door.

  Sighing, she sat up and dragged Grandma’s quilt over her legs. “Come in.”

  “Hi.” Dad stood in the doorway, his hands in his pockets. “Can I sit?”

  “Of course. I’m sorry, Daddy.”

  He shook his head and lowered himself to the edge of the bed. “Nothing to be sorry about. Except, maybe, for how critical you are of my daughter.”

  She blinked. “But, Dad...”

  He held up a hand. “Ursula, I won’t deny you’ve been treated badly by a lot of people in your life. I’m not sure I’m ready to lump this boy in with them, mind you, as it seems like he might’ve had some hurts himself that made it hard for him to behave exactly the way you wanted.”

  He was defending Malachi? Her mouth opened to protest.

  Dad shook his head. “Not finished. I’m not excusing him, yet. But I do think he deserves a chance to tell you his side of things. If it was me, I would’ve taken that chance before I let you kick me out. But he’s not me. And when I look at what he did, I have to figure he’s pretty used to getting kicked around, too, so he didn’t see the point in trying to fight.”

  “Maybe.” It was something to think about. “But...”

  “The bigger issue, honey, is inside you.”

  Her heart sank and her shoulders fell. She drew her knees to her chest and curled her arms around them. “I know.”

  “I don’t think you do. You’re convinced that because people have treated you badly you’re somehow to blame. That you’re broken. I disagree. Sure, you’ve had your share—maybe more than your share—of friend drama. Seems to me that’s just part of life. It’s what you do with it that matters. You can, of course, hole yourself up in that pretty little bungalow in Arcadia Valley and only interact with people online. Or you can let go of the notion that we’re entitled to have people treat us the way we’d like.”

  She couldn’t keep the sullen out of her tone. “’Cause there’s nothing in the Bible about that.”

  Her dad smiled. “Didn’t say that. Ideally, yes, everyone would believe in Jesus and strive to love Him with their heart, soul and mind. And then, following on that—since it’s necessary for the second to work—they’d love their neighbors as themselves. Problem is, not everyone does believe in Jesus, and even Christians sometimes get so caught up in the idea of loving others that they forget step one, loving God wholeheartedly. And if we’re trying to love others on our own power, we’re going to fail. Badly.”

  “I don’t really see what this has to do with Malachi.”

  “It doesn’t, not directly. I got a little sidetracked. But the point is there. Honey, you’re holding on to past hurts, and it’s impacting your ability to love God and others—in a generic sense and, in the case of this boy, in a romantic one. I’ll ask this one question and go: were you looking for opportunities for him to let you down or were you focused on the possibility that he might not?” He patted her knee and stood, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. “Don’t stay in here too long. Your mother’s making your favorite for dinner.”

  13

  Ruth hadn’t left it alone. Neither had his brothers. Oh, they were subtle, but by Friday, Malachi was rethinking...a lot of different things. Like maybe he was overly sensitive about being deaf. That stung. He’d tried so hard not to be someone who looked for slights in every conversation. And he’d ended up there anyway.

  He owed Ursula an apology.

  When he finished with the morning office tasks at the bakery, he squared his shoulders and went out to the display case. There were still muffins—the oat and nut was a big hit. They were starting to get a trickle of people coming in to grab a muffin or a cookie on the way in to work and randomly throughout the day as a treat. Enough that Malachi had spent some time pricing basic coffee equipment. They could set up a self-serve station and it wouldn’t add much work for whoever was manning the register. It wouldn’t be fancy, just drip—maybe have decaf as an option as well—but it was something to bring up at the next meeting. Whenever that ended up happening.

  The zucchini muffins hadn’t been quite the sellers the oat-nut were. But then, if what Corban said was true, everyone was swimming in their own zucchini already. Hopefully the folks at the food bank were enjoying them. Mid-week, Jonah had started putting a cream cheese filling in the center. That had helped a little. But only a little.

  Malachi popped up one of the bakery boxes he’d talked his brothers into and loaded it with six muffins. “Ring these up, would you?”

  Micah looked surprised but nodded. “You do know we don’t have to pay, right?”

  He shrugged and dug some bills out of his wallet. “Feels like I’m better off paying for a peace offering.”

  “Atta boy.” Micah punched Malachi’s shoulder. “You don’t think flowers are a better choice?”

  Were they? He didn’t really want to drive all the way down to Blossoms by the Akers. And with them so close, grocery store flowers weren’t going to cut it. He frowned and shook his head. “I’m going with muffins. If it’s wrong, well, so be it.”

  “Fair enough. I’ll be praying.”

  Malachi gave a slight smile. He wasn’t looking for miracles. Right now, he’d be content if she agreed to keep their website business. There were two or three little tweaks that needed to be made and he was hesitant to try and do it himself. He would, if push came to shove, but...hopefully it wouldn’t. It’d probably only take Ursula five minutes. If Malachi tried, they were talking hours.

  He stepped out into the heat and tilted his face to the sun. The office had no window. He needed to do better about getting out of the cave. For all his protests about not needing people in his life, he did. His family was enough. They were there for him, which was more than so many people had. He needed to stop taking them for granted. With his online game no longer a possibility, he’d been spending the evening on the main floor with Micah, Jonah, and, when the B&B was busy, Corban. His sister had a keeper there. She needed to hurry up and set a date. Did she realize it was making Corban anxious that she hadn’t?

  Tucking the bakery box under his arm, he grabbed his phone from his pocket and tapped out a text to Ruth. If she could be blunt with him about his relationships, well, he’d just return the favor. After crossing the major avenue that ran north to south through town, Malachi ambled down the neighborhood street. He waved to the old man out on his porch in a lawn chair. The man waved back. Did Ursula like living in town with a tiny little yard or did she yearn for something more like Corban’s farmhouse? He had so many questions...and he needed to focus on step one. Apologize and attempt to reestablish a business relationship. Maybe they could find their way to more after that. But this time, he wasn’t skipping steps.

  He knocked briskly on her door. The cat—what was his name? Something from that movie...Tintin? Triton—watched him from the window in the living room, the tip of his tail flicking. He frowned and knocked again. Had she seen it was him, somehow, and decided not to answer? Shoulders drooping, he considered the bakery box. He wasn’t going to go back with them. But if she wasn’t answering...they weren’t going to be any good if she left them out in the heat for any appreciable time.

  Malachi trudged down the steps and crossed the street. He turned up the walk that led to the old man’s house with a brief wave. At the bottom of the steps, he stopped and took a deep breath. He hadn’t spoken to anyone since Sunday—he’d only signed—Ursula’s accusation that he’d hidden his deafness was a wound that wouldn’t close. He held out the bakery box. He’d make this one exception and then go back to being scrupulously pointed about signing. “Would you like some muffins?”

  The old man frowned and touched his ear. “What’s that?”

  Malachi let out a tiny snort. Was the man deaf? There was no evidence of hearing aids, so it seemed unlikely that it was old-age-related hearing loss. Though it could just be he didn’t wear the aids. Still, worth a shot. This time he signed. “Would you
like some muffins?”

  The man beamed, his whole face transforming as he nodded and signed in response. “Certainly. You sign well.”

  Malachi set the box on the man’s lap. “I’ve been deaf since I was five. I’m Malachi Baxter.”

  “Amos Greenway. Pleasure to meet you.” He lifted the lid of the box and grinned. “Will you sit and have a muffin?”

  Malachi considered. He had work he could be doing. But it wasn’t pressing. He nodded. “I’d like that.”

  Amos pointed to a matching lawn chair that was folded by the front door. “Pull up a chair and sit for a spell. I’ve seen you a few times with the young lady across the way. You courtin’?”

  Malachi shook his head and finally got the rusty chair unfolded. “Thought things might go that way, but no. These were to try and at least get her to keep doing some work at the bakery.”

  Amos nodded. It was a contemplative gesture Malachi recognized. With the subtle tremor age often lent to limbs, Amos took a muffin from the box and offered the container to Malachi. Malachi plucked a zucchini muffin for himself. Might as well leave the best sellers for the old man.

  “Tell me about your bakery.” Amos bit into the muffin and smiled. “These remind me of when my Alma was alive.”

  So Malachi related the story of how Ruth inherited the Fairview B&B and then he and his brothers came to Arcadia Valley, culminating in the start of A Slice of Heaven. “And when we decided we needed a website, I ended up meeting Ursula. And then I ruined it.”

  “Women are a mystery, it’s true.” Amos patted Malachi’s shoulder. “And now I’m eating your peace offering.”

  “She didn’t answer the door. They wouldn’t keep in the heat. This is better all-around.” Malachi leaned back in the chair and stared out across the neighborhood. He could see why Amos sat out here.

  “It’s a good block. Nice to see young people moving in now that Main Street’s bustling. Seems like for a while the folks in Twin Falls forgot we were more than just farmers. Then we seemed to forget ourselves. But now, we’ve got good businesses, thriving churches, and some artists. Folks who maybe don’t want the town life can live here and work there and have the best of both worlds. It’s a lot like it was when Alma and I moved out here, back when Stargil Enterprises was just starting up.”

  “You worked in the factory?”

  Amos nodded. “’Till it cost me my ears. Got a decent settlement out of it. We thought about moving, but this is home. Even if it took folks a while to adjust to me needing to have Alma around to interpret for me all the time. Learned to sign okay, but lip reading...never could catch on to that reliably.”

  Malachi swallowed. Would Amos understand? “You didn’t feel...I don’t know...like a freak? Or an object of pity?”

  “Oh maybe. Fact is, I was older so maybe my experience isn’t completely the same. But it wore off, by and large. Though there’s still one woman who talks at me like I’m an idiot when she comes by.” Amos grinned and shrugged. “Since she looks like an idiot, not me, I just ignore it.”

  Malachi laughed. Maybe that was the right attitude. In D.C., he’d hardly given a thought to his impairment. Meeting someone new hadn’t filled him with dread like it did here. Had he just become too sensitive with the move? It was something to consider. “Are you still keeping the yard yourself?”

  Amos shook his head. “Alma and I attended Arcadia Valley Community Church for so many years they still come out and do the grass in the summer and shovel me out in the winter. They show up with food now and then as well, though since I putter around well enough in the kitchen I think that’s more to be sociable. They’re good people. You going to church?”

  “Yes sir. Grace Fellowship, for now, though maybe I ought to try the other, seeing as how I end up in my brothers’ pockets all day every day. Getting away on Sundays might be just what I need.”

  “They don’t have an interpreter. Alma always signed for me. So if you can read lips, sit up front and you’ll probably be fine. Otherwise, you might need to stick with family. But they’re a good bunch.”

  Malachi nodded. He could probably read lips well enough. Ruth would be annoyed, maybe even hurt. And that wasn’t what he was trying to do. Still, it was worth thinking about. He pulled out his phone to check the time. “I should head back. It was nice to chat with you. Would you mind if I stopped by again?”

  “I hope you will. If you want to put your number in my phone, I can text you if I see your young lady.” Amos pulled a cell phone from the breast pocket of his shirt. “I use it to text my grandkids. Texting...best thing in the world for people like us.”

  Malachi grinned and programmed his number in then sent himself a text. “It really is.”

  * * *

  Malachi pushed open the door and stepped into the warmth of the B&B’s kitchen. His brothers were heading to bed early. They had to get up in time to bake for the farmers market in the morning, which made for pretty dull Friday nights as far as Malachi was concerned. They kept threatening to try and teach him to bake so he could take a rotation. He’d give it a shot if they insisted, but he couldn’t hear the timers and they didn’t have the kitchen set up to be adaptive. Which was a lame excuse. He could use his phone as timer and it would flash at him. But his mother had declared him basically hopeless in the kitchen and Mom would’ve known. How had they forgotten?

  He pulled open the fridge and rooted through the containers of leftovers. Aha. There was the lasagna Ruth had mentioned. His mouth watered as he peeled up one corner and sniffed. A minute or two in the microwave and—someone tapped his shoulder. He jumped and turned.

  Ruth grinned. “Sneaking dinner?”

  He set the container down so he could sign. “That okay? You said there was lasagna.”

  “It’s fine.” She cocked her head to the side. “You’ll stay and hang out? Emerson and Pam are coming by, with their boys, for dessert later. So it’s not like you’d be a third wheel.”

  Fifth wheel, though. He put the container in to cook. But without his game, what other option did he have? Maybe he should consider one of the multitude of other online role-playing games. He could start fresh and choose a character name like DeafMalachi. Then there’d never be any confusion. “We’ll see.”

  Ruth nudged him out of the way and reached for the microwave door. She pulled out the container and set it on the counter. She reached into a cupboard and grabbed a plate.

  “I can do that.” Malachi reached for the plate.

  She shook her head. “I don’t get to do this as much now that you three live over with Corban. And I don’t blame you, from everything Micah and Jonah have said, it’s a much better arrangement. But I miss you.”

  He smiled.

  Ruth looked up at him through her eyelashes. “You’re not going to leave, are you Mal?”

  He shook his head. He’d never been serious about that.

  She beamed. “I’m so glad. Corban mentioned you took some muffins to Ursula this morning?”

  He frowned. How would Corban have heard about that?

  “I think he bumped into Jonah before coming over. And while your brother might be willing to leave it alone and not pry, I’m not. Sit down. You can tell me while you eat.” Ruth set the plate at the kitchen table and pulled out a chair.

  Malachi sat and forked up a bite of the pasta. No one made lasagna like his sister. Mom had taught her grandma’s recipe when Ruth was only eight. She made the tomato sauce from scratch, and that was probably a big portion of what made it so good. He set down the fork. “Nothing to tell. She wasn’t home.”

  “You left the muffins?”

  He shook his head and offered a tiny smile.

  Ruth smacked the table. “Don’t be a jerk, Mal. Tell me what happened. I know the muffins didn’t go back to the bakery with you and, given that you’re sitting here eating dinner, I don’t think you ate all six of them by yourself to save the embarrassment of bringing them back.”

  “I gave them to her neighb
or. We had a good chat. I went back to work. Okay?” He’d forgotten the pushy, had-to-know-everything, side of Ruth. She didn’t let it out very often, which was a good thing.

  “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Her expression softened. “I’m sorry she didn’t answer. Do you think she was home?”

  He shrugged. “No way to know. Amos is going to text me if he sees her.”

  “Amos?”

  “Her neighbor. I’m going to sign him up for the CSB, on me. He’s gotta be ninety four if he’s a day. He says the folks at his church take good care of him, but a loaf of fresh, local bread? Why would he turn that down? He liked the muffins.” Malachi scraped the last bites of lasagna off his plate and scooted back in his chair. “Have I been moping since I moved here?”

  Ruth’s eyebrows shot up. “Moping? No. But...I do think this transition has been hardest on you.”

  He nodded. “I’m sorry.”

  She reached across the table and covered his hand with her own. “You don’t need to be. I know this is difficult. And Ursula didn’t make it any easier. You liked her.”

  It wasn’t a question, but he nodded anyway. Somehow it was easier to admit it than to try and brush it off.

  “Well, don’t give up, okay? People have miscommunications all the time.”

  Malachi shook his head. This was more than a misunderstanding. “You’ve always been an optimist.”

  Ruth laughed. “That’s not a word I’d ever use to describe myself.”