A Path Made Plain (7 page)

The sound of an approaching vehicle made Thad glance past
Mammi
to the street. A minivan rolled up to the mailbox and parked. Its side bore a magnetic sign: Hostetler Handyman.

An elderly man, not as old as
Mammi
but older than his
daed
, passed the front of the van and strolled into their yard.

“How-do, Mrs. Zook?”

“Hello, Henry, I’m doing well, especially with my grandson Thaddeus visiting.”

The man craned a look up at Thad, still keeping his balance on the ladder, and holding a scraper in one hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Henry Hostetler.”

“I’ve heard of you, Mr. Hostetler.”

“All lies, except for the good parts. But you can just call me Henry.” He grinned and his face crinkled into a smile framed by wrinkles from the sun. “Mrs. Zook, I wanted to see if you would donate some desserts for the haystack supper on Saturday. My sister-in-law Melba’s feeling poorly and can’t make her part of the desserts.”

“Why, I most certainly can.”

Thad climbed down from the ladder and joined the pair on ground level. “So who’s the haystack supper for again?”

“For the flood victims in Mississippi,”
Mammi
said, giving him a scolding look. “I told you not five minutes ago, and you said you would be willing to help, too.”

“Uh . . .”

“When I asked if you’d help me, you nodded yes.”

He had. He’d nodded to something. Now Henry and
Mammi
both stared at him. “I’m—I’m sorry. My mind was somewhere else.”

“Well, make your mind come back here,”
Mammi
chided.

“Yes, ma’am.” He felt repentant for not listening to his elder, but her mock outrage, he knew, held a warmth behind it.

“So how long you here for, Thaddeus?” Henry asked.

“Uh, I’m not sure.”

“This place is not quite as dead as a ghost town, but just you wait. The season will come roaring in on the Pioneer Trails buses, and you’ll run out of time before you run out of things to do and people to visit.”

No awkward questions from this man, thankfully.

“I don’t mind the quiet,” Thad said aloud. Not too much. The evenings were quiet as all get-out. He missed the news, keeping up with local events, more than
The Budget
newspaper each week. He wasn’t much on small talk or visiting for hours, either.

“You looking for work while you’re here?”

“Maybe.” Thad glanced at
Mammi
, who’d turned to face her plants and pick at wilted flowers. “Not sure how long I’ll be here. I’m a pastry chef by trade.”

“Huh. You don’t say. Looking for a cooking job?”

“I’m not sure.” He hesitated. He longed to be back in the kitchen, but if anyone did look for him, an upscale restaurant was likely the first place they’d go. As long as no one knew he was in Florida . . .

“Fair enough answer.” Henry looked at
Mammi
. “So, can you make some pie or cobbler? Because it’s what Melba signed up for.”

“I can make both,”
Mammi
said.

“Well, I should finish scraping. The trim’s not going to paint itself, either.” Thad headed for the ladder and scaled it once more, then picked the scraper from the rain gutter. He continued peeling off the old paint, preparing for the new.

He wished he could shed
his
old life so easily. But here he was, his childhood past in his face yet again. He didn’t get the intonations of disapproval as much as he would back in Ohio among his family there.
Mammi
had been nothing less than loving and kind, letting him stay in her home and helping her. There wasn’t much to do to make it look better, and he didn’t want to rattle around doing nothing.

With Henry’s reminder of the winter season coming with all its visitors, Thad wondered if any of his friends from the old days would come. He’d be a misfit again, like he was now, only be reminded of it more so. Their opinion shouldn’t matter, but still . . .

Murmuring voices drifted his way as Henry walked back to his minivan,
Mammi
chatting away as she walked with him.

“Doesn’t say much, does he?” Henry asked.

“He always was the quiet one. But he takes it all in, you can tell. Pray for him, Henry.”

“I will, Mrs. Zook. I will.”

Thad didn’t miss the glance Henry sent his way. A fatherly glance, more than he’d ever seen from his own
daed
.

A lump swelled in his throat, and he kept scraping old paint from the house.

Chapter 8

8

A
enti
Sarah arrived at
Aenti
Chelle’s promptly at noon on Saturday. The afternoon would be spent preparing cupcakes for the haystack supper that night at Pinecraft Park. Winston, as Betsy had dubbed the dog, announced Sarah’s presence with a furious bark.

“What is this beast?”
Aenti
Sarah asked when Betsy opened the door for her, nudging Winston out of the way with her foot.

“This is Winston. He’s visiting for a while. I’m trying to find his owner.” Betsy glared at the dog. “Hush. This is
Aenti
Sarah. She’s family.”

“I’ve brought something for you,”
Aenti
announced as she followed Betsy into the kitchen. “Applebaum’s Energy Elixir, in gel tablets.”

“Applebaum’s Energy Elixir?”

“Yes. I saw it in
The Budget
and ordered a box for you. I only brought one bottle to begin with. There’s a money-back guarantee if it doesn’t work.”

“What’s in it?”

“Herbs, all kinds of healthy things supposed to help give you more energy. Two pills a day per bottle, so you should have enough for a month.”

Betsy accepted the bottle from
Aenti
Sarah. “Well, thank you.” She would take a moment later to read the label before she tried the pills. She and her friends enjoy a good laugh over some of the ads for nontraditional remedies promising all kinds of things for good health.

She hadn’t told anyone about some of her hair falling out, not even Miriam back in Ohio. And it hadn’t seemed to happen again after the one incident the other day. And she’d seemed to have a little bit more energy. Likely, the concern was all in her head. Or on it. She set the bottle on the counter, in the corner away from all the baking supplies spread out everywhere.

Then the three of them began the work of baking cupcakes, no fewer than two hundred forty. Betsy prepared the fillings, some whipped cream filling, others cream cheese and chocolate chips, but all would be graced with her homemade buttercream icing. If she didn’t think so herself, she’d have said it was the best buttercream anyone could want: sweet, with real butter, yet not too sweet. The chocolate icing was fudgy and rich.

She might add cupcakes to her menu. This would be ideal for older people who lived alone or a couple who didn’t have children around to eat sweets. However, her
daadi
always managed to sneak another slice of the whole pie when someone wasn’t looking.

Part of her wanted to spend the afternoon at the shop, watching Henry and his helper making progress on the renovations. A day of rain had hampered some of their efforts on Thursday, but Henry had brought a pop-up canopy and set it up over the uncovered patio out back.

She’d stayed up late last night, writing press releases for the shop. Several local newspapers would run a simple brief no-cost community announcement. The same newspapers also offered to run a paid advertisement complete with a graphic, but she had nothing designed and no pictures of the finished building yet.

In the morning,
Aenti
Chelle had helped e-mail the press releases. Betsy had tried using the computer a few times, but the idea of the world at her fingertips almost tied her fingers in knots. Plus, would her parents approve? She didn’t really need a computer for “work,” as a few Amish managed to justify some computer use for their jobs at factories and such.

Her mixer whirred the softened cream cheese in the bowl, and Betsy added powdered sugar to the mix to create a sweet, yet tangy filling. She stopped the mixer for a moment, scraped the sides of the bowl, and restarted it. Before she whipped the cheese too much, she sprinkled in chocolate chips.

“I can’t say as I’ve ever had cupcakes with filling like this before,”
Aenti
Sarah said above the dull roar of the mixers. She slowed her mixer, then increased the speed again. “Using this mixer gives my wrist a break, but I don’t think it makes the baking any easier. Why do we have to rush? I can mix just fine by hand.” She shook her head.

“Why,
Aenti
Sarah, it’s all right if you want to mix by hand. I guess I’ve gotten used to using the electric mixer.”

The admission didn’t bother her. Certainly, a year ago she would have never imagined saying such a thing. Trying the electric appliance, yes. It was oh, so nice to let the mixer do the hard work while she read the recipe or washed a dish or two.

Winston, in the meantime, watched them from his favorite spot by the wall. In the course of a few days, he’d grown to be part of the household. No one in the village recognized the dog. A Mennonite neighbor suggested they bring him to the vet for a checkup and to see if he had a microchip implanted. The appointment was set for Monday, and Betsy dreaded it.

Aenti
Chelle looked up from where she stood, filling the cupcake tin with batter. “You look worried, Betsy.”

“It’s nothing. I’m borrowing trouble, as my
maam
would say.” She grabbed a teaspoon and took a bite of the sweet cupcake filling. Her taste buds rejoiced, but the flavor did little to quell her swirling thoughts.

Aenti
Sarah turned off her mixer. “Today has enough troubles of its own. We need to get these cupcakes finished on time and delivered to the park on time. It’s plenty to worry about right now.”

The next two hours passed in a blur of batter, cupcake papers, and sticky fingers from cake and filling. Betsy’s worries left her alone while she busied herself in the baking. In a few weeks, at the grand opening, she’d be doing much the same. Perhaps
daed
and the family were right in assigning
Aenti
Sarah to help. True, the older woman’s demeanor was a bit prickly at times, but she was a hard worker and had the best of intentions.

At last, they stowed the cupcakes in foil-lined cardboard box lids and had all twenty dozen loaded into the back of
Aenti
Chelle’s van. Betsy wanted to wander off for a nap, with Winston flopped on the foot of her bed, but knew the option was unrealistic. Instead, she read the label of Applebaum’s elixir, then poured a glass of water and downed one of the gel caps.

She did take a moment to change her dress before leaving as well as brush her hair and put it back up under a fresh covering.

“Elizabeth? We’re ready to go.” Betsy didn’t miss the note of urgency in
Aenti
Sarah’s voice.

“Coming!” She glanced to the floor. “Come, Winston, you need to stay on the lanai while we’re gone.” He scampered past her as she walked the hallway to the kitchen.

She opened the sliding glass door and Winston trotted out into the screened area.

“You be good and watch the house while we’re gone.” There was no real concern for safety; however, she reminded herself Pinecraft was in the middle of a city and anyone could wander through the neighborhood.

After checking to be sure the makeshift cupcake carriers weren’t off balance in the rear of the van, Betsy buckled her seatbelt and they pulled out for the short journey to Pinecraft Park. Riding in a motored vehicle had become a natural part of living in the village, but part of her missed the soft sway of a buggy and the view of the countryside drifting past as the horses pulled them along.

Within three minutes, they’d navigated the quiet streets to arrive at Pinecraft Park. Someone had set up tables under the pavilion for serving food. White tablecloths, held down by containers of food, flapped in the light breeze.

A modest-size crowd, especially for mid-fall, had gathered. Some wore the traditional clothing of the Plain people, as Betsy did. Others worse simple skirts and blouses. Still others wore typical
Englisch
-style clothing of denim jeans or slacks for men, while some ladies wore capris. She’d heard someone call Pinecraft a “kaleidoscope,” and after she found out what a kaleidoscope was, she had to agree. All different types of Amish and Mennonites, tumbled together in a group. Somehow, particularly on nights like tonight, the blend worked well.

Betsy caught a whiff of the food when she slid open the van door.

“Great, you’re here!” called out a woman in plaid capris and a white cotton T-shirt. She marched to the back of the van. “Desserts, right?”

“Right. Cupcakes, three kinds, some filled and some plain inside.” Betsy touched the edge of her covering, which felt ready to slip from her head. “I can help you serve them if you’d like.”

“Of course, come on over to the table.”

Betsy pulled a tray of cupcakes from the rear of the van, then followed the woman in capris to the pavilion, with the
aentis
following behind her. This was her recipe, her way to change a simple cupcake into something a little different.

The crowd milled about, transforming itself into a line. Someone whistled, and the group fell silent.

“Thank you all for coming,” said a bearded man at the head of the first table, where someone had placed a stack of plates. “I’d like to ask a word of prayer before we pass through the line. Make sure you have a meal ticket purchased from Edna Troyer at the small table in the corner, and turn your ticket in to the first person at the serving line.”

Betsy scanned the crowd as they bowed their heads. A figure midway down the line caught her attention. A man, wearing all black, a faint shadow of beard on his face. Today he wasn’t astride a motorcycle or walking with a
mammi
in the village. Whoever he was, he had sat at the end of the Millers’ driveway in Ohio not two weeks ago.

Although she’d pondered the idea of Pinecraft being a kaleidoscope, this man definitely stood out from the rest of the group, as varied as they all looked.

He, in turn, scanned the crowd as well, his gaze falling on the desserts.

Bishop Smucker began to pray aloud over the food before the supper began.

The man in black’s focus drifted upwards and met Betsy’s stare.

He winked at her before bowing his head.

Her cheeks burned as she shot a look down at her cupcakes, then closed her eyes. Served her right for gawking. Before she’d ripped away from the force of his stare, she caught something in his own expression.

Sorrow, regret, and something like longing.

* * *

Thad passed through the line, piling his plate with the makings of a fine supper. Earlier, he’d balked at the idea of going to the haystack fundraiser.

“I’ll send a donation and you can bring me a plate.”

“No, if you’re helping me take the food, you ought to stay.” No arguing with
Mammi
.

So there he stood in the line, listening to the chatter of people around him. He couldn’t believe his nerve, winking at the tall Amish young woman on the serving line. She looked vaguely familiar, which surprised him. Maybe she was someone he’d known growing up, or maybe not.

She moved with a certain grace, with her capable hands passing out cupcakes to those here for supper. She smiled at one older woman, and a dimple appeared on one cheek. She laughed, then quieted her expression, glancing around.

Their eyes met again and she snapped hers to the person beside him, namely
Mammi
, then back down to the cupcakes.

A grin tugged at one side of his mouth. His knew his appearance definitely didn’t match the Plain people surrounding him, or even their more liberal counterparts, friends, and relatives. Yet, he couldn’t see himself going to a local department store to find a T-shirt, khaki shorts, and flip-flops to look more like a tourist.

Because he wasn’t a tourist.
Vagabond
seemed to fit better at this point. Maybe one day he’d get the flip-flops and khakis, but not today.

A few more steps, and he’d be directly in front of the blonde. She had full cheeks and although her cape dress did its modest job, Thad ventured a guess curves lurked beneath its full and proper fit.

Goodness, man. You don’t even know if she’s married or not.
But he was not looking to meet anyone at this point in his life. However, he normally didn’t wonder about married women or admire them too much. Enough of his upbringing had stayed with him. He had enough respect for marriage not to tread where he shouldn’t as a single man.

“Cupcake?” she asked when he stepped up across from her.

“What kind are they?” he countered.

“These are chocolate, filled with a mix of cream cheese and chocolate chips. The others are vanilla, with a white chocolate filling.”

“White chocolate? Is it a pudding, or more of a ganache?” He couldn’t resist giving her a little culinary banter.

“Ganache?” She blinked at him. “I—I’m not quite sure what it is.”

“It’s a blend of chocolate and cream.”

“Oh, I see.” Two bright pink spots appeared on her cheeks. “Well, which one do you want?”

“One of each, please.”

“Um, all right.” She slid a pair of cupcakes onto the paper dessert plate he balanced on his right palm.

“Thank you, Miss, or Mrs. . . . ?”

“Miss Yoder.” She spoke her name to the cupcakes in front of her and didn’t look up at him through her pretty eyelashes.

He moved on, but only so he wouldn’t see her dive underneath the table, something he was afraid she’d do if he continued to speak to her so boldly.

Nope, not married and yet quite young. The difference between the older Amish women was they were friendlier to him, for sure. Anyone under forty, or even younger, didn’t talk to him. Which was fine with him, anyway.

Thad reached the end of the line and the beverage table, but his hands had enough to carry. He’d come back for a cup of pop once he found a seat. Some people carried their plates home, but, of course
Mammi
took a place at a picnic table. She tapped the empty spot beside her when she caught him looking.

“Here, sit.”
Mammi
shifted and made room for him. He was the sole male at a table of biddies in bonnets. Their heads bobbed as they chatted and talked, wondering about who would arrive on the next bus and if anyone had any rentals in the village immediately available.