A Churn for the Worse (20 page)

Annie hopped down off the step stool and spun around. “So? What do you think? Is it good?”

Looking up from the list of tasks she'd hurriedly written as the day's first customer was climbing the front steps, Claire tried her best to figure out what Annie was referencing but fell short. “I'm sorry, Annie, I was distracted by my atrocious handwriting and my inability to decipher line three.”

“It says
birdhouse
.”

“Birdhouse?” she murmured, glancing back down. “Oh, yeah, okay. I see it now.”

“Do you like it?”

Again, Claire looked up, only this time Annie's outstretched finger guided her focus where it needed to go. “Oh. Wow. You did it already . . .”

Annie ran her hands down the sides of her simple pale
green dress and then lifted the step stool up off the ground. “I tried it on the shelf alone, but it looks better with the birds Benjamin has whittled, yah?”

“Yah—I mean, yes.” She took a moment to really soak in the teenager's thoughtful arrangement of Martha's hand-painted birdhouse. Centered in the middle of a shelf in the section of the shop devoted to home, the wooden structure's whimsical touches stoked visions of baby birds peeking out through the center hole. The proximity of Ben's hand-carved birds only enhanced that imagery. “It's perfect!”

“What is next on the list?” Annie carried the step stool back to its hook just inside the back room and then returned to the counter.

Claire forced her attention off the new display and back onto the nearly illegible list at her elbow. Unable to make out her chicken scratch, she pushed the clipboard into the center of the counter and sank onto the closest stool instead. “I'm pretty sure it says
talk
.”

“Talk? Are you sure?” Annie furrowed her brow and pulled the clipboard in her direction. “No, it says
prepare weekend sale items
.”

It took everything she had not to laugh out loud at the young Amish girl's literal innocence, but somehow she managed to refrain. Patting the stool next to her, Claire gestured toward the front door and the sporadic foot traffic on the sidewalk beyond. “Right now it's quiet in here. Let's take advantage of that and talk for a little bit. We can get to the sale prep when we're done.”

“Are you sure?”

“I'm sure, Annie.” Again, she patted the chair, adding
a smile of encouragement as she did. “Sit. Tell me how Katie is doing . . . And how Henry is doing, too. “

Like clockwork, Annie's face reddened at the mere mention of the eldest Stutzman son. “Henry is keeping a brave face. But he still hurts. I can see it in his eyes.”

“I'm glad he has you to talk to, Annie. I'm sure that's a comfort.”

Annie's brown eyes glinted with a rare burst of excitement she quickly covered with her hand. “Benjamin Miller has been helping Henry and his brothers with the farm.”

“Ben is a good man.”

“Yah.”

“How is Katie?”

This time, when Annie's eyes brightened, she didn't hide them from view. “She is good. I am trying to teach her a trick.” Leaning forward, Annie lowered her voice to a near whisper. “I want her to bounce her head when I hum a song. Like she is dancing.”

“Is she doing it?”

“A little. If I have sweets to give.” Annie hiked her simple black lace-up boots onto the bottom rung of the stool and leaned into the edge of the counter. “It is something I do when Dat is busy and my work is done.”

“You're really enjoying her, aren't you?” Claire asked.

“Yah. I like having a horse of my own.”

Claire peeked again at the sidewalk and the increasing number of pedestrians walking along Lighted Way. A look back at the clock over the register confirmed the waning lunch hour. Still, they probably had a few more minutes . . .

“My aunt loves horses, and so I'm trying to learn more
about them. In fact, I even spent a little time looking through a horse magazine last night—or, rather, this morning before I got out of bed.”

“I have not seen such a magazine.”

“I'll have to borrow one of hers to show you one day. Anyway, I didn't have much time to actually read any of the articles when I woke up, but I did look at a few pictures. One of the horses I saw looked just like Esther and Eli's horse, Carly. Have you seen her?” She grabbed hold of the clipboard, glanced at the list one more time, and then carried it around to the other side of the counter and the nail on which it normally hung. “That horse is completely enamored with Esther. It's really cute to watch.”

“I saw her after lunch on Sunday. Her tail is so curly!”

“I couldn't believe that, either, but, after looking at that magazine this morning, I guess it's not as rare as I'd thought.” Claire plucked a tiny scrap of paper off the top of the counter and then pointed toward the door with her chin. “Looks like we've got a customer coming in. I'll take this one if you want to move on to one of the next items on the list.”

The door-mounted bells ushered in a familiar face and voice. “Claire? Are you here?”

Venturing out from behind the counter, Claire headed toward the travel agent. “Hello, Bill. Welcome to Heavenly Treasures.”

Reaching up, Bill pulled his baseball cap off his head and smiled. “Hey, Claire. I'm on the way back to the inn now to get my stuff and head out, but I wanted to say good-bye and thank you before I left. It's been really nice getting to know you and your aunt and this fantastic little town.”

“I'm so glad you did. It's been lovely having you at the
inn, and I know Diane and I both hope you'll be back again.”

“Oh, I will be. I think Heavenly just moved to the top of my places-to-go-when-I'm-stressed list.” He spun his cap around in his hands and then steadied it next to his side. “Actually, before I go, could you write down the name of Hayley and Jeremy's blog for me? I don't want to ask them again for fear of looking like a jerk for not listening the first time, but I thought, if I like it, that maybe I'll include that in some of my promotional pieces for a Heavenly trip. Some folks really like to read other people's thoughts and experiences on a particular place before they commit to going. “

“Of course I can. C'mon, I'll jot that down for you right now.” Motioning for him to follow, Claire led the way back across the shop to the notepad and pen jar housed beside the register. “I'm pretty sure they said it's called Travel Time—Travel Time with Jeremy and Hayley.”

She jotted down the name, added her cell phone underneath, and handed the paper to Bill. “I included my cell phone number in case you need anything when you're putting your flyers together.”

Bill nodded down at the information and then tucked it into his back pocket. “Thank you, Claire. For everything.”

“It's been my pleasure.” She walked with him as he made his way back across the shop to the front door. “I hope you get a chance to see everyone one more time before you leave.”

“I spoke with Hank briefly a little while ago when I was taking one last drive through the countryside. He was walking between farms with that notebook of his and a
list of Amish businesses he wants to hit before he checks out on Friday. I saw Hayley and Jeremy at the coffee shop just now and, true to form, they were picking at each other the way they always do. And I just passed Jim on the way here, but other than a quick good-bye, I've not much to say to him. I think his ideas for this town are ludicrous, and I hope they fall on deaf ears.”

“They will. And if they don't, Diane will rally the troops and make sure that they do.”

Bill's laugh echoed around the shop and blended with the jingle of the door as he pulled it open. “Your aunt is a special lady, Claire. A special lady, indeed.”

Something about the tone of the man's voice caught her by surprise, and she found herself studying him in a much different way than she had all week. Suddenly, the salt and pepper shade of his hair took him past “older” to “around the same age as Diane.” And the smile he'd so easily worn whenever Diane shared a story now became more about Diane herself.

“Anyway, I better head out. I'm hoping maybe I can have a cup of tea with your aunt before I hit the road. Assuming she's not too busy, of course.”

She made a mental note to call her aunt the second Bill was out of the store, and then held the door as he stepped out onto the front stoop. “Keep in touch.”

“I will.”

With the door still wide open to the afternoon heat, Claire watched Bill make his way down the stairs and across the sidewalk toward the simple navy-colored sedan parked on the opposite side of the street. A few moments later, when he was safely behind the steering wheel, she
shut the door and turned to face Annie, her eyes wide. “I can't believe I've been so blind!”

Annie looked up from the sale signs she was making in a back corner of the main room and made a face. “Blind?”

“All this time, I just thought Bill was taken by everything Heavenly—the people, the food, the atmosphere. But that wasn't it at all.”

“He did not like Heavenly?” Annie asked.

Claire waved the question aside with a flip of her hand. “No. No, I'm not saying that. I think he
did
like Heavenly . . . very much. But I think he liked my aunt even more.”

Annie uncrossed her legs and rose onto her knees, her gaze skirting the tabletop display of candles for a direct view of Claire. “Does your aunt like him?”

“If you'd asked me that before Bill showed up here, I'd have said no way. Diane is far too busy with the inn to entertain a romantic relationship of any kind.” She checked to see that Bill's car was no longer parked out front and then leaned her shoulder against the wall. “But we're talking about a woman who is so passionate about horses she spends an hour or so out at Weaver farm each week. And I didn't know that. So I guess it stands to reason she could have an interest in someone and I might have missed that, too.”

“But you talk, yah?”

“All the time. And I mean,
all
the time.” Claire tilted her head back against the wall and stared up at the ceiling. “On one hand, I have to wonder if our conversations have always been about me . . . but I know that's not the case. I know all sorts of things about Diane. I just didn't know about the horse thing.”

“And the Bill thing?”

Pushing off the wall, she wandered from display to display across the shop, Amish dolls, Amish quilts, place mats, footstools, and painted milk cans barely registering in her thoughts. “I'm not sure there even
is
a Bill thing on Diane's end. It is possible she simply thought he was smiling at her stories the same way I did.”

“And if she did not know?” Annie posed.

“I want her to know. I've always thought she was far too special to be alone all the time.”

“She has many guests, yah?”

“Guests that come and go, sure.” When she reached the candle display, she stopped, pulled her phone from her pocket, and looked down at the darkened screen. “I want Diane to have more.”

Annie pushed the sale cards into a stack and then stood. “More?”

“I want her to have something special—like I have with Jakob.”

Claire took advantage of a momentary lull in customers to hijack a pretzel from the small snack bag she'd stowed away beneath the register. In hindsight, she probably should have taken Annie up on her offer to stay until closing rather than her scheduled three o'clock departure, but she'd really thought things would slow down.

They hadn't.

Looking around the shop, she conducted a quick visual inventory of the various shelves that were now either empty or severely lacking. If she did her mental math right, she'd sold close to a thousand dollars in merchandise since lunch. Granted, some of that fast intake of cash was due, largely, to the sale of two big-ticket items—a quilt and a blanket chest—but a number of smaller items had gone, too.

She finished one pretzel and moved on to a second, her gaze moving down the written list of items both she and
Annie had sold since the shop opened that morning. There was no doubt about it; they'd had a very good day.

“Good afternoon, Claire.”

Startled, Claire dropped the next pretzel onto the counter and flew her hand to her chest. “Oh. Hannah. I . . . I didn't hear you come in.”

The teenager's cheeks flamed red as her own hands—which Claire could now see were full—slowly lowered a few inches. “I did not mean to frighten you.”

“No, it wasn't you.” She stepped out from behind the counter and strode across the shop. “I should have heard the bell, but I was engrossed in something else.”

“Something good, I hope?” Esther's younger sister cleared her throat and then glanced down at her hands. “Mamm asked me to bring you another birdhouse and this baby blanket she completed last night.”

Claire took the birdhouse from Hannah and smiled down at the painted detail work surrounding the small round entrance hole. “I fell in love with the one your mother brought in for me yesterday and so, too, did one of my customers, as you can see.” She waved her free hand toward the shelf the birdhouse had inhabited for all of about thirty minutes that afternoon and then looked back at Hannah. “Annie made this really cute display with the birdhouse and a few of Benjamin Miller's hand-carved birds and it sold in less than an hour.”

“Perhaps you can put that one”—Hannah pointed at the house in Claire's hands—“in the same spot.”

“And I will as soon as I record these new items in my book.” She carried the birdhouse over to the counter, with Hannah close on her heels. Setting it down, she reached
for the baby blanket and held it to her face. “Wow, this is so soft.”

“Mamm does good work.”

“She does, indeed.” Claire lowered the blanket to the counter, plucked a pen from its holder, and flipped open the notebook tasked with keeping track of her inventory. Once the new items were recorded in the section set aside for Martha King, she closed the book and focused on the woman's second daughter.

Unlike Esther, who had soft brown hair, Hannah's coloring was lighter. Her hair, which was also parted neatly down the middle and secured beneath a white kapp, was more of a sandy blonde, like her uncle's, and her eyes leaned more toward a hazel than a true brown. Though, in just the right light, Claire could almost pick up the same hint of amber flecks that both Jakob and Esther sported in their eyes.

“I stopped at Esther's first, to see if she had any items she wanted me to bring to you, but she said she did not. She said you visited last night.”

“We—” She felt the color drain from her face over her choice in pronoun and stopped speaking long enough to collect her thoughts. The last thing she wanted to do was rat out Esther's Ordnung infraction. If Esther chose to share details of her evening with their uncle, that was for Esther to do, not Claire. “
We
are running low on girl dolls at the moment, but Esther already knows about that and she's working on making more.”

Nice save . . .

“Did you see Carly?”

Grateful for the change in topic, Claire jumped right
in. “I did! She's precious! And I hear she has a penchant for one of the hard candies you make.”

Hannah's mouth spread wide with a smile just before the girl's hand disappeared inside the plain-colored satchel hanging from her shoulder. Seconds later, it reemerged with two small wrapped mounds in the center of her palm. “Here.”

“Are these them?” she asked.

“Yah. Please. Have them.”

Taking the candies from the girl's outstretched hand, Claire unwrapped one and popped it in her mouth, the instant burst of root beer flavoring on her tongue making her wish she'd inquired about the flavor before partaking.

“They are good, yah?”

She almost said something about her dislike of root beer but kept it to herself when she saw the hopeful expression on Hannah's young face. “Yes. Good.”

“That is why I gave you two.”

“And that is why I will save this second one for later.” She slipped the wrapped candy into the front pocket of her summer slacks and tried not to give in to her natural gag reflex. Instead, in an effort to buy herself a little unnoticed time with a napkin, Claire directed Hannah's attention back to the shelf on which Martha's first birdhouse had been situated. The second the girl fell for her diversion, she rescued her taste buds from the offending candy and tossed it into the trash can with lightning speed. “Um . . . if your mother's new birdhouse sells as quickly as the first one did, I may be asking for more.”

“I will let her know.” Hannah turned back to Claire and flashed a smile nearly identical to one of Esther's. “The
next time I am to bring items from Mamm, I will bring you
three
candies.”

She felt her mouth begin to gape in horror, but managed to cover it with a quick shrug. “I don't want to take them away from you and Carly. I mean, from what Esther says, that horse is crazy about them.”

“I can make more. I like to make candy.”

“D-do you make other flavors?” she asked only to wince at the unmistakable note of hope she heard in her words.

“Yah.” Hannah peeked out the window overlooking the alleyway and then headed toward the front door, glancing back at Claire as she walked. “Do you have a favorite one?”

“Butterscotch, cherry, strawberry . . . You know, anything like that.”

“I gave a butterscotch candy to the man who asked Mamm for directions to the Lehmans' vegetable stand. He said it was very good.”

It took a moment for the girl's words to register, but when they did, Claire sucked in a breath. “You mean the Englisher who was at your farm on Monday?”

Hannah stopped briefly to study the string of bells attached to the back of the door, then turned the knob and pulled. “I think it was Monday, yah.”

“You gave him a candy?”

“Yah. When I brought him his drink of water. He said it was very good.” Hannah stepped onto the front stoop and then turned to wave at Claire. “I will bring you a butterscotch next time. Perhaps you will think it is very good, too.”