A Merry Heart (5 page)

“At least let me offer you some assistance.” The young man put one arm around Miriam’s waist without even waiting for her reply. “I’ll walk you to the building. I assume that’s where you were heading before your little accident?”

“I was, but I can make it there on my own.” Miriam
shook herself free from his grasp.

He smiled, revealing a set of gleaming white teeth and a boyish grin. “I didn’t know you Amish ladies could be so liberated. I figured you might like to have a man look after you.”

“I’m not liberated, but I don’t need looking after.” Ignoring the sharp pain in her knee, Miriam hurried on ahead.

The man continued to walk beside her. “I’m afraid we’ve gotten off to a bad start. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.” He extended his hand. “I’m Nick McCormick. Pretty catchy name, wouldn’t you say?”

Miriam made no reply, nor did she make any move to shake his hand.

“I make it my duty to rescue fair ladies in distress.” He reared his head back and laughed.

Despite her best efforts, Miriam found herself unable to keep from smiling. At least she thought it was a smile. She smiled so seldom anymore that she couldn’t be sure.

After a few awkward moments, she finally took his hand and gave it a quick shake. “I’m Miriam Stoltzfus, and I’m sorry if I seemed rude. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to catch up to my family.”

“You’re married, then?”

She shook her head. “I was speaking of my parents.” Miriam wondered why she was answering this man’s personal questions. It was none of his business who she was here with or what her marital status was.

“I see. Then perhaps you wouldn’t mind giving me a guided tour of the place.”

“A guided tour?”

“I’m a photographer for the
Daily Express
in Lancaster. I’ve come to take some pictures for a cover story about the Amish and Mennonite people who are here at the market.”

Miriam eyed the camera bag hanging over his shoulder. She didn’t know why she hadn’t noticed it before. Her body stiffened, and the familiar frown was back on her face. “I have no intention of acting as a tour guide so you can photograph my people. And in case you aren’t aware of this, we don’t pose for pictures.”

They had reached the market, and Nick dropped the broken bottle into a trash can and opened the door, letting Miriam step inside first. “I’m afraid it’s my turn to apologize, Miriam. In spite of what you say, I am aware that a few Amish people do allow pictures to be taken, especially of their children. I can see that you have your guard up for some reason, and I’ve obviously offended you by asking for your assistance. Please accept my apologies.”

“It’s of no real consequence. I get my feelings hurt a lot these days,” Miriam said with a shrug. “Good day, Mr. McCormick.” She turned and limped off in the direction of the ladies’ restroom.

Nick watched until Miriam disappeared; then he turned in the opposite direction. He wished she would have been willing to show him around or at least talk to him long enough so he could get some information about her. Was she here to look around? Did she work at one of the places selling hot dogs, hoagies, or pretzels?

He thought about waiting until Miriam returned from the restroom but decided against it. She’d been anything but friendly during their encounter in the parking lot, so it wasn’t likely that she would be willing to tell him what he wanted to know.

Not wishing to waste more time, he made his way down the aisle closest to him. English vendors selling craft items and souvenirs ran the first two booths, so he moved on until he came to a root beer stand run by an Amish man with dark brown hair cut in a Dutch-bob. A young girl sat on the stool beside him, reading a book. When Nick stopped in front of their table, she looked up and said, “Would ya like some root beer? My pappy makes it, and it’s real tasty.”

“Please excuse my daughter. She thinks it’s solely her job to sell our root beer.” The Amish man motioned to the jugs sitting on the table.

“It looks good, and I might come back for some on my way out,” Nick said, “but right now I’m on a mission.”

“What’s a mission?” the child questioned.

“Mary Ellen, never mind. Go on back to your reading,” her father admonished.

“That’s okay; I don’t mind her questions.” Nick pulled a notebook and pen from his shirt pocket. “I’m a reporter for the
Daily Express
, and I, too, like to ask questions.”

The Amish man’s forehead wrinkled. “You’re here to do a story?”

Nick nodded. “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“About the farmers’ market or about the Plain People who are here today?”

“Both,” Nick said. No point aggravating the man if he
was opposed to him doing a story on the Amish.

“What do you want to know?”

“Well, to me and many other Englishers like myself, the Plain life is kind of a puzzle.”

“In what way?”

“I’ve heard it said that you Amish want to live separately from the world, yet you integrate by selling your wares right along with the English here.”

The Amish man nodded.

“I understand some of your men serve as volunteer fire-men, working in conjunction with the English firefighters.”

“Jah, that’s true. We’re willing to work with others outside our faith and have congenial relationships with them, but we still remain separate by the plain clothes we wear, our simple transportation and farming methods, and our restrictions on the use of media among our people.”

Nick grimaced.
Ouch. That last comment was obviously directed at me
. He managed a smile. “We all have a job to do, and mine involves bringing people the news.”

The man opened his mouth to say something, but an older Amish couple showed up, and he turned his attention to them. “It’s good to see you both. How are you two doin’?”

“Real well,” the woman replied.

The bearded Amish man who stood beside her nodded. “We were feeling kind of thirsty, so we decided to come on over and get some of your flavorsome, homemade root beer.”

The little girl, who had returned to reading her book, looked up and grinned. “You think maybe Pappy and me
might get another invite to your house for supper soon?”

The Amish woman nodded and reached out to pat the child’s head, which was covered with a small, white cap. “We’d like that.” She smiled at the child’s father then. “What do you think, Amos? Would you be able to come over again soon?”

He nodded with an eager expression and poured the man and woman each a glass of root beer. “If you think this is any good I’ll bring a jug whenever we do join you for supper.”

The older man took a quick drink and licked his lips. “Umm. . .it’s
wunderbaar
.”

“Wunderbaar. That means ‘wonderful,’ doesn’t it?” Nick asked, butting in.

“That’s right,” the Amish man said. “Are you from a
Deitsch
background?”

“No, but I took a few years of German in high school, so I’m able to pick up on some of your Pennsylvania Dutch lingo.”

“The man’s a reporter for the
Daily Express
,” Amos said. “He wants to do a story about the farmers’ market and the Plain People who’ve come here today.”

“We get too much of that already.” The older man grunted. “Curious tourists askin’ a bunch of questions is one thing, but I’ve got no time for nosy reporters.”

“Okay, I know when to take a hint,” Nick said, slipping his notepad and pen into his pocket. “Guess I’d better find someone else to interview.”

He had already started to walk away, when the little girl called out, “Aren’t ya gonna try some of Pappy’s root beer?”

“Maybe some other time.”

After inspecting her knees, Miriam found that only the right one was bleeding, but the cut didn’t appear to be too serious. She wet a paper towel and blotted the knee to stop the bleeding; then she tried unsuccessfully to get the blood off her dress. She was afraid of scrubbing too hard for fear of tearing it more, so she decided to wait until she got home to tend to it properly.

Miriam was about to leave the restroom, when the door flew open and a little girl burst into the room. It was Mary Ellen Hilty. “Teacher!” she cried excitedly. “I seen your folks a bit ago, but I didn’t know you was here today.”

“Actually, I’ve only been here a short time,” Miriam responded. She was tempted to correct the child’s English but decided not to mention it since this wasn’t a school day and she wasn’t Mary Ellen’s mother.

“Pappy will be glad to see you.” The child’s hazel-colored eyes shone like copper pennies, and her round cheeks took on a rosy glow. “He thinks you cook real good, Teacher. He said so after we had supper at your place last time.”

Miriam tried to force a smile, but inwardly, she was seething.
Of course he likes my cooking. He would like any woman’s cooking
.

“Your mamm said me and Pappy could come to supper at your place again soon.” Mary Ellen twisted her body from side to side like a wiggly worm.

Oh, great. That’s just what I need
. Miriam tried to force a smile. “Are you happy it’s almost time for school to be out for
the summer?” she asked, hoping the change in subject might get Mary Ellen’s mind on something other than their next supper invitation.

The child offered her a wide grin. “I’ll enjoy spending more time with Pappy when he lets me come in his shop, but I’ll miss school—and you, Teacher Mim. Is it all right if I call you that?”

“Jah, sure,” Miriam mumbled.

“Some of the kinner don’t like you so much, but I think you’re real smart—and pretty, too.”

“Danki.” Miriam moved toward the door. “I must be going now, Mary Ellen. I need to find my folks.”

“They’re still talkin’ to Pappy over by his root beer stand. Why don’t you go on over and try some? Pappy gave your folks a glass for free, and I’m sure he’d give you one, too.”

Miriam only nodded in reply, but when she left the restroom she turned in the opposite direction, away from the side of the market where the refreshments were sold. The last thing she needed was another meeting with Mary Ellen’s father.

She didn’t have to go far before she saw a familiar face. Her sister-in-law Crystal was heading toward her, holding hands with her two-year-old twin boys, Jacob and John.

“Aunt Mimmy,
dummle
—hurry,” Jacob squealed.

“Aunt Mimmy, dummle,” John echoed.

Miriam knelt next to her nephews to give them a hug, but the pain in her knee caused her to wince, so she carefully stood up again.

“Miriam, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Crystal asked with a look of concern.

“It’s not serious. I fell outside in the parking lot and cut my knee a little. I embarrassed myself some, too.” Miriam made no mention of the brazen young English man who had offered his assistance. Why bring more questions from Crystal?

Crystal pointed to Miriam’s dress. “You’ve torn your skirt. Let’s go find your mamm. Maybe she has something we can mend it with. Your folks are here with you, aren’t they?”

“Jah. I was told they’re over at Amos Hilty’s root beer stand.”

“Let’s go find them,” Crystal suggested. “Maybe after Mom fixes your dress, she’ll watch the twins for me. Then we can go off by ourselves and do some shopping. It will be like old times for us.”

The idea of some time alone with Crystal did sound kind of nice, but Miriam wasn’t eager to see Amos. She hesitated before answering. “Why don’t you go on? I’ll meet you over by the quilts. I’d like to look at some Karen Freisen has for sale.”

“That’s fine, but what about your dress?”

“It can wait until I go home.”

“Come with us anyway, and I’ll treat you to a nice cold root beer,” Crystal prompted.

John tugged on Miriam’s dress. “Dummle, Aunt Mimmy.”

“Dummle, Aunt Mimmy,” echoed Jacob.

Miriam shrugged. “Oh, all right. I can see that I’m outnumbered. Let’s get ourselves some root beer.”

Amos was busy pouring a glass of frothy root beer for a young English boy when Miriam showed up with Crystal and her twins. He handed the glass to the boy and offered Miriam what he hoped was a friendly smile. “It’s good to see you again. Your folks were here a few minutes ago. You just missed them.”

“Oh, wouldn’t you know it? I wanted Anna to watch these two for me,” Crystal said, nodding at her boys.

“Maybe we should try to find them,” Miriam suggested.

Jacob pulled on his mother’s skirt, and John pointed toward a jug of root beer.

“Jah, boys, we’ll have some root beer first,” promised their mother.

Amos lifted the jug that was already open and poured some root beer into four paper cups. He handed the two larger ones to the women and gave the twins smaller servings.

Frothy foam covered John’s and Jacob’s noses when they simultaneously took a drink. The grown-ups laughed—even Miriam. It was the first time Amos had seen her laugh in a good long while, and it sounded real nice to his ears.

After the drinks were finished and they’d engaged in some polite conversation, Miriam said they should be on their way. Amos nodded, feeling a sense of regret, and said he hoped to see her again soon and was sorry she had missed Mary Ellen, who had gone to the restroom.

“I saw her in there,” Miriam said. “I’m sure she’ll be back soon.”

Amos shrugged. “If she doesn’t run into someone she knows and gets to gabbing.”

“That’s the way I was when I was Mary Ellen’s age,”
Crystal put in. “My daed said I was the most talkative child in our family.”

Miriam glanced around with an anxious expression. “Well, as I said before, I really should be on my way.”

“That’s right,” Crystal agreed. “We need to find your mamm so we can see if she’s willing to watch the twins while we do some shopping.”

The women headed off, and Amos, determined to get Miriam off his mind, busied himself by setting several more jugs of root beer on the table.

“Amos is definitely interested in you,” Crystal whispered to Miriam as they walked away.

“Well, I’m not interested in him,” Miriam replied with a firm nod. “Furthermore, it troubles me the way everyone keeps trying to match us up. Even his daughter is in on the plot.”