Forever Amish (13 page)

At the sound of my footsteps, they hurriedly moved away from each other, like swimmers pushing off from the side of a pool.

“Here you go.” I handed the money to Joe. “I only need a couple days' worth.” I gave him the name of my favorite brand, made of lamb and rice.

“Don't blame me if I get the wrong kind.” He tucked the money into his back pocket.

The bell above the front door jangled. Our heads pivoted to watch a plump, older Amish woman shuffle in. She was dressed like Rhoda and Lizzie, but her elephant-gray hair was parted down the middle with severity and her cap strings were knotted under her chin. “I saw movement through the window.” She glared at Lizzie. “Are you open?”

“Not quite,” Lizzie said. “I just arrived.”

“Then why are people in here?” The woman scoped out the shop and her squinty gaze landed on the books, then she glanced at me and frowned, her wispy brows meeting over beady eyes.

“It's still early.” Lizzie scurried to the front window and flipped the sign from Closed to Open. “We usually don't open for a while.” She straightened her prayer cap, tucked in errant strands of hair.

“Why are you still working here?” The woman narrowed her eyes at Lizzie, then at Joe, who hustled out the door and closed it, causing the bell to clatter. “My husband said your father told him you'd given notice.”

“Yah, 'tis true.” Lizzie's face blanched. “But the owner twisted her ankle. I can't leave her high and dry. She'd have to close her shop today. It says in the Bible we're to love our neighbors and respect those in position of authority.”

“Don't you go quoting the Bible to me, Lizzie Zook. Didn't you hear the sermon two Sundays ago? The minister warned young folk about dabbling in the outside world when you should be attending baptism classes. You won't find anything but sorrow away from communion with God and the community.” The woman reminded me of my snooty English teacher in middle school.

“Yah, I was there,” Lizzie said, cowering.

“I hope you were paying attention and not nodding off from staying up too late the night before.” The woman glanced over her shoulder to the front door. “Who was that young fella?”

“Just someone looking for a gift.”

She pruned up her face. “Don't try pulling the wool over my eyes, Lizzie. I think I recognize him. Amos and Mary Miller's son Joseph?”

Lizzie strolled around behind the counter and began rearranging and stacking papers.

The woman spoke to me. “I'm Bishop Troyer's wife.”

“Hello.” I put out my hand, but the older woman folded her arms across her chest. I gave her my car-salesman smarmy smile, all the time pitying the man married to the crotchety busybody. And her poor children.

No, I'd rather have an overbearing mother than none. It occurred to me this portly woman might know of my father's escapades. And of my mother.

 

CHAPTER 13

“I'm Sally, visiting from Connecticut,” I said to her. “I'm looking for someone you might remember from many years ago. Her name was Mavis.”

Paying me no heed, the bishop's wife scanned the novels. She pulled one out, flipped it over, read the blurb on the back cover, then eased it back into place. She obviously had no intention of helping me.

Lizzie brought out a rag and got busy dusting and rearranging the wooden toys and knickknacks as if the woman and I were any old customers. A moment later the bishop's wife left without a farewell.

Lizzie dropped the cloth on the counter and let out a puff of air. “It wonders me she'd happen to stop by.”

“I can't imagine she followed us, not at the speed Armin drove.” I watched a horse and buggy trot by and hoped it was Armin returning from the hardware store. My heart missed a beat. Then my shoulders sagged when I saw the driver was a bearded gent.

Lizzie peeked out the window too. “The bishop might have asked his wife to keep an eye on me.”

“Do you think he heard my father's at your house? Having Pops there isn't going to help your parents' situation. Your poor mom.”

“Yah, but just because Mamm decided to live with her parents forever and ever doesn't mean her children should.”

“I'm done living with my father, that's for sure.” I strolled to the bookcase and grabbed the first paperback book I saw—a lovely Amish maiden holding a prayer cap graced its cover—then wandered into the back room with my coffee cup. Ginger still lay sacked out on the couch. Pops had probably kept her up all night. To arrive at the Zooks' farm so early, he must have left Connecticut well past midnight. Not only was Pops a liar, but his thinking had gone awry. Or was his erratic behavior also part of an act? My temples throbbed as I tried to brush away the atrocious facts.

I sat next to Ginger and sipped the coffee, now lukewarm. She raised her head for a moment, then her eyes slid shut again. This was going to be a long day, no doubt about it, so I was glad she was in a poky mood. On the other hand, this little town might hold a treasure trove of answers to questions about my mother. I couldn't wait to go back to the house and grill Rhoda. I doubted Reuben would help me. Yet, on the other hand he might if it meant scaring my father away for good.

Minutes later, a bevy of non-Amish—what Lizzie called Englisch—women wearing coats or parkas bustled into the store. I got to my feet to see them poring over the books and telling each other which novelists they liked best. It occurred to me my mother might parade into this very store should she live in the area. Or be visiting relatives. Didn't all women love to read and shop? I scoped out each woman's face, hoping to catch a glimpse of recognition. How old would Mom be?

During the transactions, Lizzie thanked each woman courteously as she rang up their orders, although she asked one to please not take her picture. After the women left, they were replaced by several more women, and a husband and wife. I gazed at every woman's face, a preposterous enterprise, I knew. But I found myself becoming obsessed with meeting my mother through a crazy coincidence.

This store was a thriving enterprise. I wondered about Mrs. Martin, whom Lizzie was so fond of. If Joe was any indication of Lizzie's taste, I shouldn't expect much. Not that I was all that smart when it came to men; I was a pushover if ever there was one.

A rapping on the back door woke Ginger. She let out a bark. I unlocked and opened it to find Joe holding a five-pound sack of kibble. Ginger hopped off the couch, her triangle-shaped ears erect and her face cocked in that adorable fashion that had won her many blue ribbons. I'd always thought my dogs were good judges of character, but perhaps Ginger was being hoodwinked by the smells wafting from the bag.

Joe set the dog food on the floor by the desk and handed me my change. Before I could thank him, he turned and fled out the door, pulling it closed.

Ginger stretched, lifted her nose, and inhaled. I found a plastic bowl in the cupboard above the coffee maker and filled it with kibble. She dove in to it.

“Sally, could you come out and help me?” Lizzie said from the doorway. “The store's so full I can't handle everyone. Not and ring up sales too.”

I was used to working all day, not to mention attending hectic dog shows over the weekends, but I felt wiped out and emotionally drained. “Sure, give me a minute.” I clicked on Ginger's leash and took her out the back door so she could stretch her legs and find a patch of grass, then we returned. I locked the door and closed Ginger in the back room.

“Must be a tour bus,” Lizzie said as I neared her. “We usually aren't this busy until the afternoon. Mrs. Martin will be so pleased when she sees all the business we've done.”

The day seemed to fly by. When shoppers asked me to help select books, I followed the bishop's wife's example and scanned the back covers for clues. Fortunately other customers were eager to wade in and give their opinions. Several oohed over the featureless dolls. One woman spoke to Lizzie by name and said she was sorry to hear Lizzie was leaving.

Lizzie showed me how to use the cash register, not much different from Pops's. She seemed awfully naive, allowing me, a near stranger, to handle the money. Not that I'd consider taking any. And she kept calling me her cousin and grinning. I smiled back, but warned myself to be on guard.

Several customers asked me questions about the Amish. I glanced to Lizzie for the answers. She responded a few times, then pointed to the bookshelf and said, “We have nonfiction books about the Amish, Mennonites, and Lancaster County on the bottom shelf.”

I grew so hungry thumbing through several illustrated Amish cookbooks with a customer I thought I'd swoon. Then Joe poked his nose through the partially opened front door. He was carrying a brown paper sack that looked like it had come from a café or bakery.

Lizzie beckoned him to enter by flexing her index finger. His gaze darted around the room, then he skulked in and set the bag behind the register. He handed her a small package; she slipped it into her apron pocket. “See ya later,” he said to Lizzie in a subdued voice and was out the door.

“I'll be waiting.”

Lunchtime had rolled around, and I hadn't even eaten breakfast. Between customers, Lizzie and I dashed into the back room for bites of food and drink. Joe had brought us each a ham-and-cheese sandwich, heavy on the mayo and mustard, and two cans of soda. Maybe I'd underestimated him after all. Who was I to make judgments about Lizzie's boyfriend when I'd done such a horrendous job choosing my own?

“Joe's coming to pick me up after work,” Lizzie said, during a period of quiet.

“Will he give me a lift too?”

“Not today. We're going in the opposite direction.”

“Then how will I get home?” I was calling Lizzie's house my home? “I mean to your place?”

“Armin will come or send Jeremy.”

“What did Joe bring you, other than lunch?” I asked.

Lizzie fingered the parcel in her apron pocket. “I wasn't going to tell anyone, but I can trust you, can't I?”

“You mean the way I've trusted you—blindly?” I arched an eyebrow.

“I've only had your best interest in mind. And my mother's and grandparents'.” Her hand dipped into her apron pocket again, and she brought out a parcel wrapped in tissue paper. She opened it enough for me to see a small heart-shaped locket and chain. “If I don't tell someone I'm going to burst.”

“Okay, I'll keep it to myself,” I said. “Who would I tell?”

“My parents.” Lizzie eyed the front door as two English women stood looking in the window. “Promise me ya won't.”

“Okay. Hurry up and tell me, while we're still alone.”

Her eyes seemed to twinkle. “Joe and I are running away together.”

 

CHAPTER 14

I searched Lizzie's face for signs she was serving me another tablespoon of sugarcoated gobbledygook.

“We're going to elope.” The corners of her mouth lifted into a grin. “Ya know, get married.”

“But Joe? Can't you find someone—more, well, someone else?”

She placed her hands over her heart. “He's the one I love.” The two women entered the store, bringing with them a gust of chill air. The wind had kicked up; hail slanted down. “It appears we're going to have snow tonight,” one of the women said to us. “Just heard the weatherman announce it on the radio. The temperature's plunging.”

I ambled over to the front window to watch sleet spitting down, pedestrians hunched over, a horse and buggy hurrying by. I hoped Armin would pick me up today, considering the weather. So much for the groundhog not seeing his shadow.

One of the women said, “We'd better come back another time.” They scanned the store. “Cute place. Are you open tomorrow?”

“Not on Sundays,” Lizzie said. After the two women exited, Lizzie told me, “This shop may never open again unless you come back on Monday.”

“I can't believe you'd lay a guilt-trip on me after I've been working here for nothing all day.” Anger sharpened my voice, but where that ire was emanating from, I couldn't decipher. A mishmash of paradoxes swirled in the back of my brain .

The telephone by the cash register rang, and Lizzie answered it.

“That was Mrs. Martin,” Lizzie explained after a stop-and-go chat. “She said you could stay in her back room. She insists you read any books that catch your fancy.”

“Ginger and I live in that cramped little cubicle? It would never work.” On the other hand, it was a roof over my head and a quiet hideaway.

Through the window, I noticed the sleet transforming into white pellets, dotting the streets and sidewalks.

“Ach, what happened to our beautiful springtime weather?” Lizzie wrung her hands. “This isn't how I envisioned this afternoon.”

“You and me both. Even if Armin gets the Mustang going, that rear-wheel–drive coupe can't handle snow or icy roads. No weight over the rear wheels.” I could tell by Lizzie's blank expression she had no clue what I was talking about.

A UPS truck skidded to a stop up front. A uniformed driver lugged in a sizable carton and set it on the floor by the register. “Almost didn't make it,” he said. “The roads are getting clogged with traffic.” Lizzie signed for the package, and the driver jaunted back to his truck, then sped away, his tires spinning.

I watched Lizzie open the box. “Oh, dear, I've got books to put away,” she said. “I mustn't let them sit in the damp carton over the weekend.”

I helped her empty the box and carried the books to the shelves. She restocked the fiction by author, nonfiction on the bottom shelf, oversize books on the next, by the cookbooks and magazines.

I heard knocking on the back door, and Ginger barked. I left Lizzie and hustled to check my pooch.

“Who's there?” I said.

“Joe.”

I opened the door and a block of frigid air filled the room. His jacket's shoulders were darkened by moisture. His tattered Nikes were soaked, as were his pant legs. Droplets from his jacket landed on the carpet.

“Is Lizzie ready?” he said as I let him in. I noticed a fifteen-year-old blue Chevy Cavalier, a compact with a dent in its rear fender and a missing hubcap, parked outside the building.

“To run off with you?”

“She told ya?” Joe's pale face and round eyes reminded me of a scared rabbit.

“Yes, and you two were so obvious earlier, how could I miss it? But to elope? That's crazy thinking.”

I questioned myself about my own rational choices. I was considering marrying Donald. Who knew, I might still do it if I got desperate enough. Then I recalled the feeling of safety as Armin helped me from the buggy, his firm, strong grasp.