It doesn’t matter who your parents are. It doesn’t matter what you’ve done. It’s who you know.
Faith took over. He was doing what his mom had always stressed. Following his heart. And Marcus prayed again for God to guide his life. Afterward, Marcus knew everything would be okay.
* * *
The following morning, Hannah made her way to town for groceries while Maemm ran Amish Edibles. She enjoyed the uneven clomp-clomping of hooves and the ups and downs of the buggy as it traversed the narrow blacktop. As she watched her horse, Miracle, swish his tail, she took a moment to say a quick prayer of thanks for her simple life and for Gott blessing her family. She even said a prayer of thanks for Miracle: that Gott had put the two of them together. And that Miracle knew he was loved.
As her body swayed on the blue, velvety cushion with the uneven movement of the buggy, she thought of another quick prayer. “And dear Lord, please heal and protect Marcus. And I pray that his brothers will find You. Amen.”
Inside the local store, she beamed when a familiar voice caught her attention. She turned to the sound of Mary Conrad.
“Hallo!”
With a quick wave of her hand, Mary stepped to the middle of the aisle where Hannah was selecting flour, and they hugged each other affectionately.
Afterward, Mary shoved her glasses up her nose and grinned. “It’s so gut to see you!”
“You too! How’s your flower garden?”
Hannah couldn’t help but grin amusement while Mary went on and on about her favorite Chicago Peace rosebush, how it had nearly died and how she’d managed to bring its beauty back with her secret formula. Automatically, Hannah equated her friend’s excitement about plants to her own excitement about the adventure series she read and now was secretly writing.
As they went from aisle to aisle, Mary brought up the robbery. As they conversed, Hannah couldn’t help but think what she’d acknowledged before: how odd a break-in was in this extremely noneventful neck of the woods.
In line, Sarah, the Amish checkout clerk, jumped in on their conversation. In an excited and breathless voice, she said, “They stole money from the cash register!” She threw her hands in the air. “Can you imagine what could have happened if someone had been in the shop?”
Hannah closed her eyes for a moment to try to stay calm. Although she’d already heard what Sarah reinforced, the reality hit her with such a ferocity, her heart pumped to a fast, wild beat.
She drew her hands over her chest as she said a silent prayer that the thief would be caught. Soon. At the same time, her vivid imagination went to work on the story she was secretly writing.
Sarah continued to go on and on about the theft that had turned into the talk of the town until, finally, Mary cut in. “Still no word on who did it.”
Suddenly, Hannah realized that the two were looking at her to say something. Automatically, she said the first thing that came to her mind. “I believe the police will catch whoever did it.”
A combination of fear and excitement edged Sarah’s voice. “Jah, but what if the thief robs again?”
The plausible question forced Hannah to swallow the knot that suddenly blocked her throat. “We don’t have control over that, Sarah. All we can do is pray that won’t happen. And to be cognizant of what’s going on around us.”
Outside, Hannah helped Mary load her paper bags of groceries into her buggy. Afterward, they stepped side by side to Hannah’s buggy and repeated their actions, careful to make sure everything was tucked away so that nothing would fall out during the bumpy ride down the blacktop.
Hannah motioned to the velvet cushion on the front bench and motioned to her friend. “I’ve missed you! We used to chat all the time. Nowadays, we barely talk. How ’bout getting together like we used to?”
“Come over soon, and I’ll show you my flower garden as we solve the world’s problems!”
* * *
At lunch the following day, Marcus took a seat next to Ben on the rustic-looking wooden bench behind their work building. As the warm summer breeze gently lifted the short sleeve of Marcus’s T-shirt from his skin, the ambience brought back a melancholy feeling in his chest.
Memories, good and bad, flooded him while he unfolded the crease in his lunch bag and continued to pull the cellophane-wrapped sandwich from the brown paper. He envisioned his parents together with him and his brothers in their backyard eating homemade ice cream.
Today, the twenty-fourth of July, would have been his father’s fiftieth birthday. As cars, trucks, and horse and buggies traversed the blacktop that loomed in the distance, the old Chevrolet he had helped his dad refurbish for months zoomed into Marcus’s head. He, his brothers, and his dad had taken a ride in the vehicle to celebrate his dad’s birthday. Marcus could almost hear the words and expressions of appreciation as family members had enjoyed the homemade ice cream his parents routinely made for special occasions.
Marcus swallowed an emotional knot and tried to think of something else. Of course, his parents would always have his heart. But sadness overcame him at how disappointed they’d be at his brothers’ behavior.
And he was sure his dad would expect Marcus to help get them back in line. Their love of cars had bonded him and his father closely together. Chevrolets, specifically; his dad had never driven anything else.
At the same time, Marcus and Ben ate. As Marcus bit into his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, he nodded satisfaction.
“I tell you, Ben, your sister’s raspberry jelly is the absolute best.” Turning to his coworker, he pointed to his lunch.
Ben smiled, bobbing his head back as he took a swig of water. “Doesn’t surprise me a bit. Hannah always was the family cook.”
That statement prompted Marcus to lift a challenging brow. “Not your mom?”
Ben took in a breath, extending his arm and turning his hand in an undecided motion. Finally, he met Marcus’s gaze while he swallowed. As he opened a potato chips bag, he pressed his lips together in a straight, thoughtful line before responding.
“Maemm’s a great cook, no doubt about it. But ever since Hannah was a child, she somehow managed to take over in the kitchen.” After a slight pause, he offered a nod. “Here’s my best explanation: Maemm cooks to feed us. Hannah cooks because she loves doing it.”
Marcus swallowed before commenting. “I get it.”
Ben bit into his chicken salad sandwich. “For as long as I can remember, my sister always tried out new recipes from her friends. And oh . . .”
He stopped a moment to chew another bite. While they sat behind the welding shop, a large cumulus cloud blocked the bright July sun. In front of them, a horse pulled a buggy on the blacktop headed toward the town of Arthur.
“Hannah has a knack for making food taste gut. And I know for a fact that sometimes she doesn’t even measure. She can throw a dish together in no time at all and make it taste delicious. It’s a talent Gott blessed her with.”
After swallowing a bit, he went on. “She’s also gut at math.”
“Really?”
Ben nodded. “She keeps the books at Lapp Furniture. Somehow, she works at the shop, does chores, and manages to do the records at our family store.”
For a moment, Marcus took in the surprising news while he enjoyed the caress of a warm breeze on his face. His eyes followed the buggy, wondering who was inside the jet-black carriage. Then, recalling the barn raising and the amount of work needed to finish the building, he finished his first sandwich, wadded up the cellophane, and returned it to the bag after pulling out the second sandwich. As he took a swig from his bottled water, he turned to Ben. “When d’you suppose we can have your barn finished?”
Hannah’s brother scrunched his empty bag and hooped it into the nearby trash can. As the trash landed in the metal bin, he offered a slight shrug of his shoulders.
“Depends on the weather.”
Marcus couldn’t help but note how much Ben resembled his sister. Both had the same large, chestnut-col
ored eyes speckled with green flecks that danced whenever they spoke about something that enthused them.
Ben’s new barn excited him. When he talked about it, enthusiasm edged his voice. Unconsciously, Marcus compared Ben to his sister and smiled a little. Numerous things enthused Hannah. Her quilt, raspberry jelly, and, although she hadn’t yet explained it to him, whatever she was secretly reading.
After he’d glimpsed her returning a paperback to a spot next to the cash register, her eyes had been wide with excitement. He couldn’t help but wonder what was on those pages.
Even Ben’s wide smile reminded Marcus of the Amish Edibles lady. Despite the similarities, there were also huge differences between the siblings. Ben was tall, thin, and walked in a slow, lackadaisical stride, while Hannah’s taller-than-average build was curvy.
She never did things in slow motion. Seemed like she was always in a rush. He loved watching her light into something, like whatever it was she was getting to might escape before she got there.
He tried to stymie the way the pulse on his wrist picked up to a fast speed. He pressed his lips together in a straight line while he acknowledged his forbidden interest in her.
She’s Amish. I’m a believer now, but I’m certain there’s absolutely no way I’m ever going to join her faith. Their rules are so strict. I can’t imagine not being able to drive. It would be like breaking the bond between my dad and me.
I bet their thoughts are as pure as their actions. And here I am, thinking about how I’d like to take Ben’s only sister for dinner just to spend time with her. I’d love to walk with her just to hold her hand. And kiss her good night at her front door.
Marcus silently ordered himself to stop thinking about the only young woman in the Lapp family. If Ben knew what’s going through my mind, he wouldn’t be happy. Not at all.
Automatically, Marcus considered the way his heart stepped up a notch at the mere thought of beautiful, kind Hannah. He couldn’t stop the corners of his lips from curving upward as he came up with an accurate analogy. If my pulse was the speed limit, I’d have a ticket before I even put the car in Drive.
The next thing that entered his thoughts was the theft at King’s Bakery. Relieved that he’d switched mental gears, he started a conversation about the family that owned the bakery. “Any word yet on who stole money from King’s shop?”
Ben’s expression turned serious as he stood and shoved his hands into his pockets. He paced a few steps and came back to where Marcus sat. When he plopped back down on his spot, he leaned back and stretched his long legs.
A short silence lapsed before he gave a quick shake of his head and turned toward Marcus. “The last I’d heard, no. In fact, it’s my understanding that the police don’t even have a suspect.”
Marcus decided to be totally open. “Ben, there’s something I want to get straight with you.”
Ben lifted a curious brow.
Marcus cleared a knot from his throat. “I’m grateful for all you’ve done for me. You’ve given me a place to stay. And talking to you; well, what can I say?” Before a response could be made, Marcus went on. “You’re an answer to my prayers.”
Marcus pressed his palms against the bench and the corners of his lips dropped a notch. “But I realize that to some folks around here, I’m different.”
Ben frowned.
Marcus gave a slight lift of his shoulders. “You know what I’m saying.”
Ben merely looked at him to continue.
“I’m from the city. And I realize that this theft occurred shortly after I came to town.”
Ben narrowed his brows. “What are you getting at?”
Marcus let out a breath and locked gazes with the man he already considered a true friend. “Your friendship means everything to me. So does your trust. And I don’t take it for granted.”
Several heartbeats later, he went on with a half smile. “Ben, my life and all I’ve been through probably seems complex compared to the simple way you and your family live.”
Ben sat up straight and leaned forward before he pulled his legs up to the bench and offered Marcus’s thigh a friendly slap. “There’s one thing I’m sure of.”
“What’s that?”
“That I consider you part of our family. And I’d sure like you to join us for dinner tomorrow.”
Chapter Seven
That evening, Hannah knelt beside her bed, pressed her palms together, and whispered, “Dear Lord, thank You for Mary Conrad. If it be Your will, please have Wayne Miller ask her parents’ permission to court her. And please continue to protect our town from danger. Amen.”
She stood, stepped to her desk, and pulled her story in progress from the top right corner. As Hannah glanced around the four off-white walls, she smiled in satisfaction. She loved her room.
In here, she felt secure. This was her special place to think. And for some reason, whenever she sat on the hand-woven rug and leaned back against the side of her bed, nothing seemed impossible.
Resting against her soft purple quilt, she expelled a happy sigh and silently reread what she’d started. Satisfied with what she’d penned so far, she paused to consider what to write next. Turning toward a breeze from the open window, she looked out at the stars that twinkled in the distance. She strummed her fingers against her notepad, her short nails meeting the paper making a light, tapping sound.
After breathing in and staring at the blank pages in front of her, she narrowed her brows. What should my characters do? I was trying to ring for help. There was no dial tone.
She put ink to paper and brought her knees closer to her chest so she could more easily write.
Hannah glanced out the front as she tried the phone again, wishing she could run out of the shop to get someone’s attention.
But the only living creature around was Miracle. No neighbors within a couple of miles. Every time the horse glimpsed Hannah, he whinnied for attention.
Hannah gritted her teeth. Because by the time she hitched the horse to the buggy, the thief would surely see and hear her. She’d never yearned for a car, but right now, she contemplated how convenient it would be for her to merely step inside, close the driver’s door, and turn the key in the ignition.
There were definite advantages to being Englisch.
The following morning, the sun was starting to appear as Hannah stepped toward the chicken coop to gather the morning eggs. Basket in hand, she frowned. As an Amish girl, she’d done many chores during her twenty years. This was, without a doubt, her least favorite.
After she crossed this one off her list, there was certainly plenty more to do before she hitched Miracle to the buggy to head to Amish Edibles. Closing her eyes momentarily to enjoy the warm breeze against her lashes, she let out a sigh of satisfaction.
This morning, there was no time to waste if she was to leave the house by nine thirty and be at Amish Edibles at ten till ten to open up and light the scented candles that her customers appreciated while they shopped.
As she approached the coop, as usual, she could hear the clucking of chickens. Automatically, she frowned and prepared herself for collecting the dirty eggs. She could already smell the feather dust.
She hunched to avoid hitting her head on the ceiling and opened the door. As she stepped inside, she considered everything going on in her life. Marcus. The theft at King’s Bakery. The story she’d commenced. The money she’d found in her shop and the conversation she’d had with Marcus about it.
She blew out a deep breath as she acknowledged the task she’d come here to perform. “May as well get this over with,” she muttered, stepping inside. As usual, feathers filled the air. She took in the urgent flapping of wings.
“Don’t worry, you guys,” she said under her breath. “I’m not here to put you into a pot for chicken and dumplings. I’m just here for your eggs.”
A loud squawk made her hit her head on the low ceiling. She dropped her basket and quickly bent to retrieve it. For a moment, she rubbed the sore spot. T
hen she began collecting the eggs. Most were still warm.
As she carefully placed the white and brown shells in her basket, she tried to ignore the filth. The smell that she’d tried unsuccessfully to get used to over the years. Every once in a while, the feather dust prompted a sneeze.
She practiced optimism, fully aware that life was filled with things she didn’t like to do. On the upside, once the eggs were cleaned with a warm rag, they’d look more appetizing. Besides, they served a very important purpose. Because of these feathered creatures, she was able to bake delicious treats, like the sponge cakes and beautiful hot rolls that tasted best right out of the oven.
Outside of the coop, she stood up straight and breathed in the fresh air. For a quick moment, she placed the egg-filled basket on the ground while she brushed small feathers off her dress sleeves and work apron. Last, she gently dusted her kapp, bent for the basket handle, picked it up, and took the long dirt trail that led to the Lapps’ side porch.
Outside, she breathed relief, straightening and closing the wooden door behind her and turning the wooden board to hold the entrance shut. She took in the sun that was beginning to appear and acknowledged that Gott had blessed her with another day. Dear Lord, help me to use this day for You. Help me to serve You and only You.
When she came to the side of the house, she opened the screen and stepped inside. The door sprang shut and made a quick, snapping noise. Inside the kitchen, she carefully removed the eggs from the basket, laid them out on a dish towel, and began gently cleaning each one with water and a warm rag. Miraculously, they cleaned up quickly.
As she removed the undesirables, she looked out of the window in front of her and smiled a little. She took in the barn in the distance. She could see the cattle in the fenced-in pasture.
Two goats played in the backyard. She frowned. How did they get out of their pen? They sometimes looked like fun-loving creatures, but they were mostly ornery.
While she finished the task at hand, she took in the vast area of jade-green grass.
For a moment, she stopped to appreciate the panorama in front of her. From where she stood, she had a full view of the dirt path that started at the side porch and wound its way all the way to the old barn that had been passed down from her grandparents on Maemm’s side.
Promise at Pebble Creek Page 7