A Path Made Plain (15 page)

Chapter 16

16

A
enti
Chelle had been acting strangely, ever since the day of
Aenti
Sarah’s surgery. At first, Betsy paid the change little mind, but after a week, she stopped holding her silence when on her
aenti’s
day off, she entered Pinecraft Pies and Pastry along with Daniel Troyer.

Daniel stood at the coffee station, pouring two cups of coffee while
Aenti
Chelle studied the fresh pastries and pies in the case.

“I don’t know what to choose. I know everything’s delicious. Daniel, what do you want?” She glanced over at him, her cheeks flushed.

“Surprise me,” the man said with a grin.

Aenti
Chelle turned her attention back to the glass display case. “I’ll have a glazed doughnut and a chocolate fried pie, please.”

“Right away.” Betsy pulled one of each from the case and placed them on small paper plates. She leaned across the counter and whispered to her
aenti
. “So, you like this Daniel Troyer?”

“I do. I do.”
Aenti
Chelle’s gaze slid sideways. “Careful, or he’ll hear you.”

Betsy nodded, sliding the plates toward her aunt. “No charge for you today.”

“Oh, Betsy, I couldn’t.”

“You’ve been such a help and an encouragement to me, and I’m grateful.”

“Well, thank you.” Her blush deepened, the closer Daniel came.

With steaming cups of coffee in both hands, Daniel joined
Aenti
Chelle at the case. “So what did you choose?”

“Glazed doughnut for me, a chocolate fried pie for you. They’re still warm.”

“Wonderful.” A shiny flash at his wrist caught Betsy’s attention.

“That’s some watch, Mr. Troyer.”

“Ah, my watch.” He touched his wrist with his right hand. “It was a gift. I know it’s a little flashy, but it does its job well. Of keeping time.”

Was it her imagination, or did her observation of the watch make him nervous? Betsy tried not to frown as the couple walked to a small table by the front window. Daniel Troyer claimed to be a distant relative. But something didn’t sit right about him. She dared not ask her family, not now. But maybe Thaddeus would help her. He could use a computer and she trusted him. She sighed as she entered the kitchen to see if Vera’s pies were ready. From the delightful smell in the kitchen, she guessed they were.

Aenti
Chelle was, as the
Englisch
said, smitten. All the more reason to see if Daniel Troyer had any secrets. But Betsy almost envied her
aenti
. She knew the feeling well, had felt her heart pound raucously in her chest when saying good-bye to Thaddeus this morning, him leaving the bakery as she arrived.

Vera Byler, though, put a damper on any dizziness Betsy might have had while watching Thaddeus depart shortly before dawn.

“Pies are almost done,” Vera said now, looking up from rolling out more dough. “I’m not surprised we’re not busier.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Thanksgiving’s tomorrow and everyone is picking up their pies from Yoder’s instead.” She frowned as she rolled out one more crust for pumpkin.

“I’m not surprised either, but it’s all right. I make more than pie here.” She gritted her teeth.
Aenti
Sarah had been far more easy to deal with.

“I can’t see this place lasting longer than your lease. I hear most businesses close within the first year. How long is your lease, anyway?”

“Six months.” She wanted to add, “Not as though that’s any of your business,” but said nothing more. Vera had been the one to remark about Betsy joining the ranks of the old maids before too long.

“How late do you plan to stay open today?”

“Until six o’ clock. I hope some people will stop by the bakery on their way home from work. I ran ads in the Sarasota newspaper.” Betsy glanced at the clock. Eight more hours, then they’d close and go to their homes to help their families continue Thanksgiving dinner preparations.

“I certainly do hope you’re not wasting your family’s money.” Vera picked up a bowl of pumpkin pie filling, ready to pour into the crusts.

“Mrs. Byler, it’s been my fervent prayer for a long time now.” She felt her hackles rising, like one of the yard dogs back home. Vera giving voice to Betsy’s fears almost made her shudder. Her irritation cooled a bit. Vera wasn’t trying to hurt. In her own negative way, she was trying to help.

The bell to the door outside clanged, and Betsy scurried out to the sales floor.

Gideon Stoltzfus, again. She then remembered how she’d treated Jacob, and gave Gideon a sympathetic smile.

“Good morning, Gideon.”

“Betsy. I’ll have the usual. I’d also like to purchase a whole pie, please.” He grinned at her, then stepped over to the coffee pot. “Ah, I see your coffee is running low. I can refill the tank for you.”

“No, thank you, but if you bring me the reservoir I can refill it. What kind of pie would you like?”

“Strawberry rhubarb. I’m taking it to my grandparents’ for dessert tomorrow.” He returned, holding the empty water reservoir for the coffee maker.

“Thank you.” Betsy pulled out a paper plate and also Gideon’s usual, a sticky bun covered with nuts and raisins. She took the plastic container from him, then entered the kitchen.

How could she let him down easy? She’d done it before. Or so she’d thought. She’d even tried the direct approach the first day he marched into the bakery. However, every morning since he’d been in Pinecraft, he came to the bakery and purchased a sticky bun and helped himself to a cup of coffee before leaving to go off and do who knew what.

Now wasn’t the time for crushing his hopes, however. She filled the water tank for the coffee, then reentered the sales floor. Gideon waited at the counter, still grinning. He’d already taken a bite of the sticky bun.

“A group of us are going to the beach on Sunday. Maybe you could come with us.”

She hesitated while passing the edge of the counter on her way to the coffeemaker. He knew her weak spot, the beach. She hadn’t taken the time since she’d returned to Pinecraft to make the twenty-minute trip to Siesta Key Beach, to kick off her flip-flops and wiggle her toes in the sand.

As she reconnected the water reservoir to the coffeemaker, she considered his offer. Going as a group. Maybe, if she were clear about things, she would go. A few of her friends had arrived in Pinecraft for winter vacation, and she had yet to see them.

Betsy turned to face Gideon. “I’m not sure.” The sales floor was empty, save
Aenti
Chelle and Daniel. “I’ve been busy with the bakery, and now with
Aenti
Sarah having surgery.”

“Surely you don’t have to stay in the village on Sunday. You can visit your
aenti
and then go to the beach.”

“I suppose I could.” At that, his face brightened. “But, Gideon, please understand. You are my friend, and only a friend. I’ve known you my entire life, and I don’t see you as anything more. I’m sorry if, before, you might have had, um, ideas about us.”

Now, his expression sank a little. “I do understand. It’s why I mentioned all of us going, in a group.”

She imagined the sand, white as cake flour, under her feet. The call of the birds, the sight of the blue waters, and scent of salt.

“All right. I’ll go. What time were you all thinking?”

“About five or so.” Gideon grinned widely. “Now, my pie?”

“Oh, yes. Strawberry rhubarb. I’ll go fetch a box for it.” Betsy scurried from the bakery sales floor.

* * *

Thad listened to the voices drifting from the house, but maintained his spot outside on the back patio. He occupied one of a pair of chairs facing the yard. The last time he’d had a Thanksgiving meal like this and had the chance to kick back was the last November he’d lived at home. Since then, Thanksgiving meant another day to work and feed hungry crowds who would rather go out to eat than stay home. This meant a succession of upscale desserts ranging from pumpkin flan to a chocolate mousse with an accompanying cranberry foam.

He rubbed his stomach. He’d pay for this tomorrow, he was sure.
Mammi
had put out two tables for the meal, butted up against each other, with the family occupying one table, and him seated at the end at the smaller table, along with the few extra dishes not on the main table.

Their version of shunning, by not “eating with him” at the same table. The awkward table setup was covered with a voluminous white tablecloth covering both tables. Thad knew, though, where one table stopped and the other began.

At first, conversation had been strained, halting after
Daed’s
prayer over their supper.
Daed
had said nothing to him as they ate, but his gaze kept wandering in Thad’s direction.

The last long conversation he’d had with his father had been seared into his memory. Pleading, outrage, preaching, Scriptures, condemnation, concluding with exasperation. Thad’s resolve to leave and further his education in a nontraditional field grew with each approach
Daed
had taken.

At tonight’s meal, none of that had happened, thankfully. Perhaps
Daed
had decided today wasn’t the time or the place.

When someone did talk to Thad, it was about the bakery as well as his work with Henry Hostetler, which had tapered off for the time being with Thad helping at Pinecraft Pies and Pastry. Thad gave answers readily enough, all the while allowing his taste buds to rejoice at his family’s cooking.

The back screen door banged.

“There you are,” his
mamm
said as she stepped off the patio. “Did you get enough to eat?”

“More than enough.” Thad patted his stomach again.

She wiped her hands on her apron before she sat down. “Good. It’s good to see you at our table again.” She switched from English to
Dietsch
.

Thad braced himself mentally. He noted a few more wrinkles in
Mamm’s
face, on her hands. “The food is as good as I remembered, probably better.”

“Your
mammi
didn’t say you were here, visiting, in her last letter to us.”

“I wondered if she would.”

“You know you can always come home again. Your
daed
says Henry Hostetler spoke highly of your work. You’re quite good at tiling. I’m sure your
daed
can help find a job for you somewhere.”

Thad frowned.
Mamm’s
voice held soft, tender tones.

“I can’t go back. I’m sorry.” Henry was probably trying to smooth things over between Thad and his
daed
by complimenting Thad’s skills, but consigning a family member to hell couldn’t be fixed by a mere career change.

Her face crestfallen, she glanced toward the house. “Truthfully, I never minded you wanting to be a baker or chef. But your
daed
, and the bishop, and the others . . .”

“It’s okay,
Mamm
. I made my decision a long time ago. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You’re unsettled, like—like a boat without an oar.” She waved her hand to create a breeze. “Being among the
Englisch
hasn’t been good for you.”

He didn’t care to argue with his
mamm
, not only because of lack of respect, but because he half-agreed with her. A boat without an oar. Drifting through life, unable to steer or find direction.

“If I don’t have an oar, maybe I can find a sail.” He smiled, hoping his
mamm
would as well. “
Mamm
, it could have happened even with me not being among the
Englisch
.”

“You need us, and we need you, too. All of us.” Her voice caught.

You weren’t made to blend in; you were made to stand out.

“I—I’m sorry.” What else could he say? The old smothering feeling was coming back. He sucked in a breath.

“I pray one day you are sorry enough.”
Mamm
frowned, then got up from the chair and strode to the house.

Thad released the breath, then sighed. Laughter and chatter inside, without him. Someone said something about breaking out the dominoes or the corn hole set. Thad almost wished he could join them. If he couldn’t be accepted as he was, he couldn’t be a part at all. Sure, Pinecraft was a good place to pretend he fit. However, face-to-face with his family again, his pretending wore thin.

He stood. Should he go inside, to have a cup of coffee and more dessert, or sit at the edge of the group and be a reminder of the pain he’d caused?

No, a walk through the village. Thad trudged around to the front of the house and glanced at his neglected motorcycle. He’d ordered a new helmet online and it was due to arrive soon. If he was going to start anywhere again, he at least needed it to get around.

His footsteps carried him away from
Mammi’s
house and in the direction of the park. He could sit in a corner of the pavilion at a picnic table, or keep walking. If the homeless man could hang out in the park, so could he.

Another figure approached the park, too, causing Thad to smile again. Betsy, walking along with a dachshund resembling a short, round sausage more than a hot dog.

Betsy glanced up and saw him, and a shy grin flickered across her face. She murmured something at the dog waddling along on four paws, then glanced Thad’s way again.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” he said as they drew closer to each other.

“Happy Thanksgiving to you,” she replied, then cast another glance at the dog, who sniffed Thad’s leg, then sat up on his haunches, his front paws tucked under his chin. The dog’s tail whipped side to side.

“Well, hello there, little guy.” He reached down and patted the dog, who then flopped over on his side, exposing his wide belly. “Have you kept out of trouble, Winston?”

“Mostly, except when he’s begging for table scraps.” Then Betsy laughed, the sound like soft musical notes.

“This guy is just lapping up the attention.” Thad rubbed the dog’s belly. “I love dogs. Never had time for one, with the hours I worked and living in an apartment and all. It wouldn’t have been fair to him.”