by Amy Clipston
“Cindy.” He’d somehow calmed, and he scrubbed his hand down his face. “It’s just that—”
“Gut nacht.” Before her father could respond, she raced into the house and up to her room, where she flipped on the lantern on her dresser, closed the door, and sank down onto one corner of her bed.
Emotions raged through her like a tornado—anger, sadness, guilt, happiness, excitement, and grief. She felt guilty for talking back to her father and angry that he compared her to Sarah Jane instead of listening to her or trusting her. She couldn’t allow him to force her to be baptized, and she refused to agree that her friendship with Drew was sinful. She cared about Drew, and she enjoyed his company. How could she ever believe that God would disapprove of an innocent friendship?
She closed her eyes as her lower lip trembled. Oh, how she missed her mother. If Mamm were here, she would listen to her. She would understand what Cindy was feeling, and she would never compare her to Sarah Jane.
But her mother was gone.
She hugged a pillow to her chest as a torrent of tears threatened to drown her. She needed guidance. She needed to know her feelings were valid.
Lowering the pillow and folding her hands, she began to pray.
God, I’m so confused, and I need your guidance. Please send me a sign so I’ll know if my friendship with Drew is sinful or if you bless it. I can’t deny how I feel about him, but I also can’t shake this guilt that my family is trying to push on me. Please show me your will.
Then she changed into her nightgown, turned off the lantern, and climbed into bed. As she stared up at the ceiling through the dark, she contemplated her wonderful evening with Drew. She smiled as she recalled holding on to him during the fireworks and then pouring out her heart to him at the ice-cream parlor.
Drew was important to her, and he was quickly becoming her best friend. How could their friendship be wrong if it felt so right?
eight
Drew sang along with the radio as he steered his truck toward Beechdale Road the following afternoon. He couldn’t get Cindy’s beautiful face or her laughter out of his mind, making it difficult to concentrate in his classes today. He couldn’t stop smiling either.
He recalled how soft her skin was when she’d allowed him to hold her hand during the fireworks, and how her hair had smelled like flowers. He kept replaying their conversation in the ice-cream parlor when she’d opened up to him. When he’d invited her to the fireworks, he’d hoped they would spend some time talking and laughing, but he’d never imagined he’d break through her wall of secrecy.
His heart warmed as he recalled the way she seemed to trust him. He felt as if he’d known her for years instead of only a few weeks. And now he craved more time with her. He wanted to know everything about her.
He slowed his truck as he passed her father’s farm, hoping to get a glimpse of her outside, but he didn’t.
Disappointment settled over him. He didn’t want to wait another week before seeing her again. He hoped God planned for their friendship to grow and blossom like the flowers Drew planted in Gertrude’s garden. He would water and nourish their friendship just as he cared for the flowers. He just needed Cindy to continue to open her heart to him and trust him the way she’d trusted him last night.
But he had to be careful too. They could never be more than friends.
* * *
“I made a chocolate pie for dessert,” Cindy announced as she carried the pie to the table after supper. “I made two of them.”
She pointed to the fridge, where she’d stowed the pie she planned to take to Drew later—if she could get away. Her pulse fluttered at the thought of seeing him again tonight. Spending time with him two evenings in a row would be a dream come true if she could!
Sarah Jane gave Cindy a strange expression as she set a pile of dessert plates and forks on the table beside the pie.
Cindy turned to her father. “Would you please slice the pie?”
Dat gave a curt nod and then began the task.
Cindy sat down beside him and chewed her lower lip. By morning her anger had dissipated, and she’d hoped he wouldn’t still be angry with her. It would be best if they could work things out. But how could she find the right words to apologize or ask for his forgiveness? Why would she when she didn’t believe her friendship with Drew was wrong?
Maybe it didn’t matter. While he hadn’t brought up their disagreement when she found him alone on the porch earlier, he’d seemed distant, and he only politely answered the questions she asked him. Perhaps it was better not to talk about it.
Dat finished slicing the pie, and Cindy distributed the pieces. After a silent prayer, she dug into her portion and nodded with satisfaction at the sweet flavor.
“This is appeditlich,” Roy said.
“Danki.” Cindy sat up a little taller. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Oh ya,” Florence agreed. “Very gut.”
Sarah Jane nodded from across the table. “Fantastic.”
“Danki.” Cindy turned to Dat and awaited his approval.
He nodded and then took another bite, but he remained silent.
The disappointment she’d been fighting expanded in her chest. Was Dat going to continue to treat her with polite silence? Her heart ached at the possibility. She didn’t want to be at odds with him.
When they’d finished their dessert, the women gathered the dirty dishes and carried them to the counter. Dat and Roy headed outside.
Cindy turned on the faucet to fill up one side of the sink with soapy water. She added the plates and utensils and hummed as she washed them.
When she realized Sarah Jane and Florence were quiet, she looked up and found Sarah Jane studying her with pursed lips.
“What?” Cindy asked.
“Why did you make two pies?” Sarah Jane leaned forward on the counter as if Cindy’s response would be as juicy as the gossip she and Florence traded with the other women at their quilting bees.
Cindy shrugged off the question and returned to washing the dishes.
“You made it for Drew, didn’t you?” Sarah Jane’s voice held an edge of accusation.
“Ya, I did.” Cindy pivoted toward her. “He told me last night that his aunt used to make him chocolate pies, and he enjoyed them. So I thought I’d make one for us and one for him.”
“Are you planning on taking that pie to him tonight?” Florence sidled up to Sarah Jane, and Cindy suddenly felt as if they were ganging up on her.
Cindy lifted her chin and hoped it illustrated confidence. “I’m going to take it to him after we finish cleaning the kitchen.”
When Florence and Sarah Jane shared a concerned look, Cindy turned back toward the sink and tried to ignore the muscles tightening in her neck.
They worked in silence for several minutes while Cindy washed, Sarah Jane dried, and Florence wiped off the table. Cindy hoped to finish the chores and then leave without another confrontation.
When she’d finished rinsing the last washed utensil, she went to the refrigerator and pulled out the pie. She smiled down at her creation and imagined Drew’s handsome face when he saw the surprise she’d planned for him. She hoped he would enjoy eating it as much as she’d enjoyed making it for him.
“I’m concerned about your relationship with Drew.” Florence’s words crashed through Cindy’s happy thoughts and slammed her back to the present. “If word gets around that you’re spending time with an Englisher, the bishop might make a visit to our haus. I don’t think you want that, and I know for sure your dat doesn’t want it.”
Although anger boiled in Cindy, she looked at her stepmother and fixed a smile on her face that felt brittle—and probably looked as phony as it felt.
“My friendship with Drew is just that—a friendship.” Cindy divided a look between her stepmother and stepsister. “And as far as the bishop is concerned, he has nothing to say to me because I haven’t joined the church.” Gripping the pie in her hands, she moved past them toward the mu
droom. “I won’t be out late.”
She hurried out of the house, down the porch steps, and toward the street in hopes of avoiding her father and brothers. She picked up her pace and did her best to leave her anger and frustration back home in the kitchen. She was going to enjoy the rest of her evening, despite her family’s growing disapproval.
When she reached Drew’s back door, she knocked and then took a deep breath and squared her shoulders as she shook off her irritation. The door swung open and her pulse galloped as she took in Drew’s handsome face.
“Cindy.” His smile widened. “What an awesome surprise.”
“I have another surprise for you.” She held out the pie. “Chocolate is your favorite, right?”
“Wow.” He pushed open the screen door. “Am I dreaming right now or are you really standing in front of me with a chocolate pie?”
“You’re not dreaming.” She craned her neck to look into his kitchen. “Do you have a coffeepot?”
“I do, and guess what.” He held up a finger. “I have mugs too.”
She laughed. “That sounds perfect.”
“Would you like to come in?”
Her stepmother’s warning about the bishop rang through her mind, and she looked at the rocking chairs on his back porch. They matched the ones Ervin had provided in the front. “Why don’t we sit out here and enjoy the beautiful night air?”
“Sure.” He pointed toward the house. “Let me get a little table for us.”
“Perfect.” Cindy stepped inside and gathered plates, utensils, and mugs while Drew started the coffee and found what he called a folding TV tray.
Soon they were sitting side by side in the rockers and enjoying coffee and the pie. Bruce lay on the porch between them, softly snoring.
“How do you like it?” she asked after he’d taken a bite. “Although I’m sure it doesn’t compare to your aunt Shirley’s.”
“It’s exquisite, and I’m sure my aunt would have said the same. You can keep making these for me.” He lifted his mug as if to toast her. “Thank you very much.”
“You’re welcome.” She sipped her coffee and breathed in the night air as bliss settled over her. For a moment, everything was perfect. If only she could keep this feeling when she returned home to her disappointed family.
“Tell me about your mother.”
Cindy looked at Drew. “What do you want to know?”
“Do you look like her?”
She considered the question. “Yes and no. She had dark-brown hair, like Jamie and Laura, but my eyes are like hers. I’m also about her height. She was beautiful too. I think Laura looks more like her.”
Drew’s smile was soft. “I find that hard to believe.”
“What do you mean?”
“If she was beautiful, then you look like her.”
Cindy’s chest swelled with warmth as embarrassment heated her cheeks. She looked down at her coffee to avoid his eyes.
“You don’t like compliments, do you?”
She shook her head while keeping her eyes focused on her mug.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”
“I know.” She looked at him again. “What else do you want to know about her?”
“Is it okay if I ask about your favorite memories of her?”
Cindy considered the question, and memories flooded her mind. She smiled as happy ones bubbled to the surface. “My best memories are when we sewed and quilted together. She taught me everything I know about sewing and quilting. I’m able to do seamstress work because of her.”
“Really?” He moved his chair so he was facing her. “I knew you sewed and quilted, but I didn’t know you worked as a seamstress. When do you work? And where?”
Cindy shrugged. “Every day, from home. I usually work in the afternoons after my chores are done. Customers bring projects to the house for me.”
“Like what?”
“Well, sometimes I do little jobs, such as repair a quilt or hem a dress. Other times I get more complicated projects, such as tailoring a wedding gown to fit a woman’s granddaughter.”
“That takes talent.” He lifted his mug to her again.
“Thank you.” Cindy looked down at her mug. “I miss her so much. When she first passed away, I would cry while I sewed because it was just too painful to do it without her. Now I think of her and try to remember the advice she gave me.” She looked up at the gorgeous splashes of orange and yellow in the sky. “Look at that. It’s just as pretty as last night’s sunset.”
“It is.”
She turned to him and found him watching her instead of the sky. Was he thinking she was as beautiful as the sunset? No, he couldn’t be. She had to change the subject.
“Tell me about your parents,” she said. “What are your favorite memories of them?”
He rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “Well, we used to play board games one night every week. My mom insisted we have at least one night when we turned off the television, and I wasn’t allowed to play video games. Instead, we would sit at the kitchen table and play games like Monopoly or Scrabble, and the three of us would laugh and talk all evening. It was great.”
“That’s a wonderful memory.”
“Yeah, it is.” He rested his chin on his palm. “We used to take vacations too. We’d go to the beach in Maryland or drive down to Florida. My mom loved the ocean.”
“Where did your dad like to go on vacation?”
“He didn’t care where we went. He just wanted to make my mom happy.” Drew set his mug on the little table. “They had a really good, solid marriage. They would argue sometimes like all couples do, but they truly loved and cherished each other. At least, that’s what I remember.”
“My parents did too.” Cindy set her chair into motion as more memories came to her. “My dad had some regrets after she died. He told Jamie he was sorry he never took her to Florida. Some Amish folks rent a van and go down in the fall, and she really wanted to go. He always told her he had to stay home to make sure the farm ran well, but after she died, he realized Jamie and Mark had been able to run the farm by themselves for several years. He was angry at himself for not giving her that memory.”
He shook his head. “He can’t beat himself up over that. He had no idea what God had planned for your parents.”
“I know.” Cindy looked out toward a stand of trees.
“Are you close to Florence?”
Her gaze snapped to his, and his eyes widened.
“I didn’t mean you shouldn’t be,” he said. “I was just wondering what kind of relationship you had with her.”
“I was just surprised by the question.” She took a sip of coffee while considering how much to share. “We get along, and I appreciate that she makes my father happy. She’ll never replace my mother, though. I can’t talk to her the way I could talk to Mamm.”
“I understand that.” He rocked back and forth in the chair. “I adored my aunt. She was a wonderful woman, and she did the best she could for me. She gave me love, along with a safe home and everything I needed, but she wasn’t my mother.”
They rocked in amiable silence for several minutes, and Cindy appreciated how comfortable she felt with Drew. It was as if they could sit together for hours, either talking or just silently enjoying each other’s company. The only sounds around them were singing cicadas, soft snores from Bruce, the swishing of their rocking chairs, and the hum of cars and clip-clop of buggy horses in the distance.
“I’m glad I didn’t have to wait a week to see you again,” he said.
She looked at him, and a wave of warmth traveled from her head to the tips of her toes as she took in the intensity in his eyes. “I’m glad too.”
“The week apart was torture. Let’s not do that again.”
She smiled. “I agree,” she said, then, “I should get going.” She stood and began to gather their plates and mugs.
“Stop.” He placed his hand on hers, and her skin
tingled at his touch. “I can clean this up.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” He touched her arm. “It was really great seeing you. Please stop by again soon.”
“I will.” She glanced up at him, and her heart hammered in her chest.
“Would you like me to walk you home?”
“No.” She shook her head as she imagined her father waiting for her on the porch again tonight. It would be a disaster if he confronted her with Drew at her side. “I’ll be fine.”
“Hang on.” He reached under a bench and pulled out a small flashlight. “Use this. I don’t want you to fall. You can return it when you see me.”
“Thank you.” She took the flashlight and then pointed to the pie plate. “And you can return that when you finish what’s in it. I’ll make you another.”
“I promise I will.” He gave her a dazzling smile, and then he walked her around the house to the driveway. “Good night.”
She leaned down and gave Bruce a good-bye rub on his head, and then, with happiness fluttering through her like a honeybee, she ambled down the driveway toward home.
* * *
Drew leaned against the railing on the front porch and grinned as he watched Cindy leave. Elation had spilled through him when he opened the door and found her standing on his back porch with a pie in her hands. She’d hijacked his thoughts all day long, so when he saw her, he was certain he was dreaming and praying that he wasn’t.
Their visit had been just as magical as their time together last night. He’d cherished every minute with her, and he’d been captivated by her smile and the sweet sound of her laughter.
Tonight she’d shared more of her memories of her mother, and he’d learned that she didn’t enjoy compliments or talking about herself. She was humble, and it was clear she had no idea how beautiful and special she was, which made her even more attractive.
When the beam of the flashlight bounced out of sight, he returned to the back porch, gathered the dishes and mugs, and then whistled as he carried them into the kitchen. After storing the remaining pie in the refrigerator, and the TV tray back in the family room, he washed the plates, forks, and mugs.