A Path Made Plain (18 page)

“Truthfully, Thaddeus, we all fall short. The Order? It’s like the letter of the law. It was intended to keep people secure. But for the wrong reasons, in our own strength, we can’t fulfill it all. Sure, people make up inconsequential rules for the sake of rules. But although we are made in God’s image, because of the Fall, there is none truly righteous. We all stand on level ground, no matter what we wear or how we look. Beards and Plain clothing can mask a dark heart. But you need to decide for yourself what you believe.”

Thad slowed his pace on the cream, now forming stiff peaks. If he kept up much longer, it would break down again. Religion, it was all the same.
God, if You are real, You wouldn’t make it so impossible.

He swallowed around the lump in his throat before continuing. “Tell that to the rest of them. You know how it is, growing up, doing anything to stand out from the others is discouraged. My
daed
hates I bake for a living. Women’s work. Ach, yes, I have rarely heard of a
daadi
knitting socks or a winter scarf. Men don’t bake for a living, and of course, they’re not supposed to go get an education. I didn’t want anything so wrong. I’m happy you gave me a chance to work for you, but in fact, construction’s not my thing.”

He shouldn’t have opened his mouth about people making assumptions about him. Thad realized, too, his last spiel to Henry had been in
Dietsch
. The words had poured out, from somewhere deep inside. He didn’t fumble or reach for them.

No matter how he talked, or how he covered up his arm, he still didn’t belong.

“I left my Order as a young man, not long after my wife and I married.” Henry stared at his mug as if he could see the memories unfolding. “We found grace, we didn’t have to discipline ourselves to please God, but our love for Him makes us want to please Him. His commands aren’t burdensome, either. I am reminded every day I need a Savior, and salvation isn’t by my own strength. There are other reasons we left. But we didn’t leave God. In fact, we know Him just as well outside the Order as inside, if not better.”

“I’m glad it worked out for you.” Thad tried to sound sincere, and part of him was. Henry had a peace steadily glowing from within, even in the most mundane of jobs. You couldn’t help smiling at a man who wore a tropical print shirt along with suspenders to hold up his trousers.

You need to decide for yourself what you believe . . .

“Well, I didn’t mean to start preaching at you. All I can do is share with you what it’s been like for me. God always listens to a repentant soul, Plain or not Plain.” Henry stood, then headed for the coffee pot for another cup. “Anyway, tell me all you know about Daniel Troyer and I’ll see what I can find out. Like you said, if it’s nothing but a misunderstanding, fine. We’ll say no more. But if this man isn’t who he says he is, I must go to the Amish bishop.”

Chapter 19

19

I
t seemed half the male congregation from Pinecraft’s Old Order fellowship had found their way to
Aenti
Chelle’s house. Maybe not half, but judging by the number of beards in the living room, Betsy felt gravely outnumbered. Winston sat in the corner in his bed, blinking and looking around at the assembly. Betsy wanted to scoop him up and find a place to hide.

By the time she arrived at
Aenti
Chelle’s after closing the shop, her parents were waiting for her. The expression on
Daed’s
face made her insides quake just a little. Vera Byler must have told someone, Betsy wasn’t quite sure who, about the news producer coming to the bakery and wanting to do a show about Pinecraft Pies and Pastry. Wondering wouldn’t make the group in the front room or their questions go away.

Aenti
Chelle waited in the kitchen, watching the coffee brew and slicing apple bread. She told Betsy she’d be praying, just before Betsy went to face the group.

“Hello,” Betsy told them all, as she surveyed the room and the faces sorted themselves out. All right, the faces belonged to her
daed,
four
oncles
, and her
daadi
. Three other men she recognized from church, along with the local bishop. So it wasn’t quite half the congregation.

“We understand the local television station wants to film in your bakery,” said the bishop. “They want to record for several days and create an hour-long feature about the bakery, too?”

“Oh, no, that’s not how it is.” Betsy shook her head.

“Did you agree to this?”
Daed
asked before she could continue.

“No,
Daed
, I did not. I knew I’d have to speak to you and the family first. Also, the lady told me my part of the show will only last about five minutes.”

“I don’t know if it’s wise to go on television.” Uncle Joseph, usually the quietest of her
oncles
, spoke up. “We do want to sell as much pie as we can and turn a profit. But Pinecraft has had so many cameras and filmmakers coming through.” He glanced at the bishop, who was nodding.

Betsy squared her shoulders. “A long time ago, one television company filmed part of a show at Yoder’s about their pies, and it was nearly thirty minutes long.” She didn’t add that she’d watched it on
Aenti
Chelle’s computer.

“It’s not the show I’m talking about.”

Betsy knew the one. Some time ago, a group of former Amish youths, none from her area, were being filmed for a television show. Rumor at the time had it they were trying to stir up trouble and get the Amish and Mennonites angry at them, then record the whole thing for television. She’d been horrified. Why would people do such things? For money, she’d heard. She remained silent.

“Did you tell this producer you weren’t going to be filmed?” Now it was
Daadi’s
turn to question her.

“No, not quite.” She bit her lip. “We didn’t talk about much because I didn’t want to commit to anything before I talked to
Daed
.”

The bishop said nothing as the men talked about film crews passing through the neighborhoods, journalists interviewing some of the residents. To Betsy’s inner delight, she realized not all of them were against the idea of the news station filming at the bakery.

“All right.” The two words from Bishop Smucker silenced them all. “Elizabeth, I assume you are interested in having the news station record at the bakery. What are the benefits of this happening, and how would you conduct yourself if we allowed it?”

She swallowed hard. “I’m not the first Plain person to run a business the
Englisch
will want to visit. Since I’ve returned to Pinecraft and opened the bakery, I feel the weight of responsibility with spending my family’s investment. My
daed
, my
daadi
, and my
oncles
are counting on me paying them back and also earning a profit, like my
oncle
said.”

Betsy glanced from face to face. Her family had to agree with what she’d just told everyone. Didn’t they? Why invest hard-earned money in a venture if it would fail? Why not use every legal—and honest—opportunity to bring in more business?

“Go on,” the bishop said.

“It’s expensive to advertise on television. I’ve only been able to advertise in the newspaper twice. The lady who runs the Pinecraft Village site on the Internet has also been writing about the bakery.” Betsy paused. “So, in a way, I think this five minutes of television time is like free advertising.”

“Sometimes free things aren’t free,”
Daadi
interjected. “How do we know this won’t cause trouble for us?”

“Being on television has been good for Yoder’s. People come from all over the country to visit Yoder’s when they are in Sarasota.” Her words surprised her.
Gotte
must be answering
Aenti
’s prayers.

“What’s going on in here? What’s the ruckus about?”
Aenti
Sarah stood in the doorway and glared at her brother. “Jacob, why didn’t you tell me we were having company?”

“A television station wants to visit the bakery and put it on the air,”
Daadi
replied.

“
Aenti
, you should have asked for help getting out of bed.”
Aenti
Chelle was at
Aenti
Sarah’s side in a flash, her chide gentle.

“I heard voices. Anyway, it’s time I do some getting out of bed on my own. The physical therapist wants me to use the rolling walker from the hallway to the kitchen.”

“All right. But be careful.”
Aenti
Chelle drew back into the kitchen but stood close by.

Betsy smiled for the first time since leaving the bakery that afternoon.
Aenti
Sarah might have had major surgery to repair a broken hip, but certainly her liveliness wasn’t affected. No, she couldn’t have borne the idea of
Aenti
being in an
Englisch
“rehab home” as she recovered from her surgery.

“Well?”
Aenti
looked at
Daadi
as she pushed her Rollator into the living room and made a beeline for the nearest open chair. She gingerly settled herself onto the seat.

“You were sleeping, Sarah. I didn’t want us to bother you.”

“No, I was only resting my eyes a bit after supper. Now, as you asked me to help with the bakery, I have. Until my hip broke. But I still consider myself part of the business.”
Aenti
Sarah then switched her focus to Betsy. “Elizabeth has conducted herself properly and I believe she would do the same even with the television people visiting us all day.” High praise, coming from her
aenti.
Betsy tried not to look triumphant. The bishop could still forbid her to go on television, or the bakery at all.

“Bishop Smucker, what say you then?”
Daadi
asked the man who had watched the exchange between brother and sister with an amused expression. Betsy tried to imagine her grandfather and great-aunt as children, debating over some matter of importance in a child’s world.

The bishop stroked his beard, long wisps of snowy hair. “I’m not encouraging the bakery to go on television. However, since the television station contacted Elizabeth, I think she may proceed.”

Betsy wanted to clap, but instead clasped her hands together in front of her. She opened her mouth, but Bishop Smucker continued.

“Please, consider carefully how this will be filmed. Make it clear that you will not be posing or parading yourself. And the Zook young man . . .”

Now Betsy’s heart seemed to leap into her throat. “Yes, Bishop?”

“He may help you with preparations as he has been. However, he is not to be on camera.”

“I understand.” Betsy nodded. Too bad for Thaddeus. He deserved quite a bit of the credit for the bakery’s success since
Aenti
Sarah’s surgery. There was no way she could have enough doughnuts and pastries ready every morning, and not spend her time on the sales floor yawning at everyone.

“I have fresh coffee, if you would all like some. And, there’s warm apple bread in the kitchen I’ll bring in, too.”
Aenti
Chelle stood in the doorway. Steam rose from a cluster of coffee mugs on a tray.

“Why, certainly,” said Bishop Smucker.

As
Aenti
Chelle passed her, she said to Betsy, “Betsy, if you’d grab the sugar, cream, and some spoons, to put on the coffee table?”

“Right away.” Betsy wanted to skip from the room. Despite what she considered meddling by Vera Byler, the bakery would get a chance to be on television after all. She thought about her favorite dress, which was a vivid blue almost matching the color of the Florida sky.

She wouldn’t pose for the camera, but if the producer wanted to film over her shoulder, or somehow record her rolling out pie dough, the dress would be a good color. A smile tugged at her lips as she pulled some spoons from the silverware drawer. She could hardly wait to tell Thaddeus.

And maybe Thaddeus had some information for her about Daniel Troyer. She sealed her lips together. So far this evening he hadn’t come by, and
Aenti
Chelle said he was supposed to walk her to Big Olaf’s for some ice cream.

“Oh, Betsy?”
Aenti
Sarah’s voice drifted into the kitchen. “I need some sugar, please.”

“Coming,
Aenti
Sarah.”

Betsy allowed herself a few bounces on her toes before settling her stride to something more appropriate for an adult. But Pinecraft Pies and Pastry was going to be on
television!

* * *

Thad glanced at his phone, at not quite six in the morning. He’d been at the bakery since four, doing prep and making pie crusts. Today, instead of leaving when Betsy arrived with her grim shadow, Vera Byler, in a few moments, Thad would stay.

The tiramisu pie waited for Betsy’s arrival in the stainless refrigerator. Thad had sampled each of the pie’s components and smiled with each tasting. The dessert would make people’s taste buds sing and he couldn’t wait to see Betsy’s face when she tried it.

Today, Friday, he hoped she wouldn’t try to pay him again. He never asked for a paycheck and hadn’t expected one. Betsy’s venture had found a tentative footing at last. A rumor had drifted his way via
Mammi
—a television station would be coming to film at the bakery. Only, it wasn’t a rumor.

He considered it a marketing gift and thanked
Gotte
for the provision and good timing for Betsy. Prayer. The idea made him give a sad smile. He knew there were plenty of churches all over Sarasota and plenty of them claimed to have the right path to follow. Their method of worship was the preferred method and the most correct. Even the
Englisch
couldn’t get it sorted out, it seemed to him.

He liked Henry’s peace and the easy way he spoke about
Gotte
. Or, God, rather. So much of what he’d known growing up in his Order was about appearances, looking right, acting right, and praying to God for mercy. He did believe in God, but had given up on the idea of religion in general several years after leaving his family. What good did it do anyone?

Enough of those thoughts. Today was Friday, and Thad had decided to investigate the job opportunities here in Sarasota. He’d sat around long enough and the time for lying low was over. Nobody had been after him, after all. Other than the people showing up, asking for him at Stacie’s place, and Pete Stucenski looking for him to give him his old job back, they were all.

Thad didn’t think working at Dish and Spoon again was a wise move. The place would never be the same after Mitchell’s death. Even after the news died down, people would still say, “Oh, this is the restaurant where the owner was murdered.” People wouldn’t come primarily for the food, but for where a murder took place. Or the opposite could happen. Sales would slack off and the place would have to close for good. Either way, he didn’t want to be professionally attached to it.

The back door opened and Betsy walked in. “Good morning.” It seemed the sun’s glow increased behind her as it streamed through the doorway.

She stopped just inside the doorway, the sunlight framing her from behind as she pulled a clean apron from the nearby hook. “I have some great news for the bakery—have you heard?” She smiled at him, her face fresh and clean, her eyes sparkling. He could barely make out the freckles by her nose. The first face besides
Mammi’s
he saw every morning, before having a few moments of conversation.

So beautiful. So pure.

And he loved her.

The realization slammed into Thad and made him grasp the stainless work table with both hands. Funny how the most mundane, ordinary moment could freeze.

But he couldn’t love her. It was the worst time, and he wasn’t the best man for her.

Betsy kept talking as she tied the apron, glancing over her shoulder. “. . . and Mrs. Byler should be here any minute now. I’m planning to call the station first thing at eight.”

Thad nodded. “Going on the Sarasota morning show. Awesome.” His brain still spun inside his head as his heart hit overdrive.

“Now,” she continued, placing her hands on her hips, “If you could get the coffee started—”

“I did.” He gestured with his head toward the sales floor. “Already had a cup.”

“Oh, okay. Well, did you bring the tiramisu pie? I can’t wait to taste it.” Betsy scanned the room.

“It’s right over here, in the refrigerator.” Thad placed a cloth over the bowl of doughnut mix he’d been preparing. What was he thinking? Anything between them would be impossible, as things stood right now. He didn’t see it changing.

“I’ll get some plates and forks. Because you need to eat a slice, too.”

Insistent, wasn’t she? He smiled at her confidence. Maybe the confidence came from her height, which didn’t bother him as they stood almost eye to eye. She grinned and set the plates and forks down between them, then pulled a pie server from the utensil caddy.