Made with Love (16 page)

The tears came then, unbidden, and Lovina couldn't hold them in. A tear slipped down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away.

The tables around her were still filled with people, eating and talking. Waitresses still hurried by, caring for their customers and delivering orders. The wonderful aromas of fried chicken, coffee, and even the sweet strawberries from their dessert filled the air, but that wasn't on Lovina's thoughts either. The only thing she could think about was that others not only acknowledged her dream, but they wanted to help fulfill it. First Jason and Noah, then Faith, and finally Dat. She'd never been given a more perfect gift.

“There's one more thing,” Dat said as their waitress approached with the bill. “I've been wanting to do this for a while. I've felt it was in God's plan—your opening a pie shop.”

Lovina placed a hand over her chest, feeling her heartbeat quicken. Such knowledge was almost too hard to comprehend. “But Dat, why did you wait? Why didn't you say something sooner?”

Dat's smile grew, and he placed his hand on Mem's as if welcoming her into their conversation. “I was just waiting for you to ask, dear daughter. I wanted you to want this enough to risk your heart to ask. To trust me and trust my care for you.”

 

Potato Soup

1 can cream of chicken soup

16 ounces heavy whipping cream

1 (32 ounce) carton chicken broth

10-15 potatoes (cut in small pieces)

1 (8 ounce) container sour cream

12 slices bacon, fried crisp and broken into pieces, or 1 3-ounce jar of bacon bits

seasoned salt

Heat soup, cream, and chicken broth on medium heat. Add potatoes to this mixture and cook until done (keep on medium heat). When potatoes are tender, turn heat to low, and add sour cream, bacon, and seasoned salt to taste. Makes 15 servings

Twelve

If you hear a bad report about someone, halve it, and quarter it, and then say nothing about the rest.

A
MISH
P
ROVERB

T
uesday dawned with a warm wind blowing from the east. After eating a breakfast of dippy eggs, bacon, and toast, Noah stepped out the back door and eyed the warehouse, wondering how Lovina's conversation with her parents had gone the night before. Wondering if his sketches had made any difference. Wondering what her dat had to say about the idea. And what John Miller had to say about him.

Noah had talked with Lovina's dat a few times, and the older man had been kind enough to his face. But when he met Lovina's mem, Noah had no doubt that news of who he was and what he'd done had proceeded him. John Miller had mentioned he had five daughters, and Anna Miller had changed the conversation before Noah could ask anything about them.

Noah glanced at his watch. He hadn't worn one up north on his dat's farm. Things on the farm got done as they'd got done. His dat had been the timekeeper of the family, making sure everything was set up in time for their weekly auctions. But now that
he was in Pinecraft and he depended on drivers to get him and the guys to their jobs, a watch was a necessity.

He opened the door and strode back into the house, happy to see the guys were pulling on their boots. “Ready to head out?”

As if on cue, an old truck pulled up to his uncle Roy's house. They exited the front door as a group. Noah climbed in the front seat next to the driver, Daniel. Mose, Gerald, and Atlee climbed into the back.

“I got a call from one of my contractor friends late last night,” Noah said. “There's an old house in the West of Trail neighborhood he told me about.” Noah gave him the address, and Daniel nodded.

“Someone doing a remodel?” Daniel asked. His eyes lit up, and Noah knew why. The West of Trail neighborhood was comprised of an eclectic mix of Bay Front mansions and older 40s and 50s style ranches. Many of the homes in this highly desirable neighborhood had been torn down and rebuilt, but others had been substantially remodeled, which meant they were often throwing out anything that didn't fit in with their modern designs. Noah had been able to get some wonderful pieces that he'd resold to Sarasota Architectural Salvage. On days like that Daniel seemed just as excited about the haul as Noah. To Noah, stepping into an old house, barn, or attic felt like a kid stepping into a candy store.

So far the three teens had been a fine help in sifting through construction garbage, hauling large architectural pieces, and cleaning things up to sell, but he knew their restless spirits wouldn't be content with that for long. He wished he'd heard something from Lovina already—good news especially. The teens seemed extra sluggish today. Maybe it was the heat, or maybe it was the knowledge that no one around Pinecraft wanted to give them a chance.

In the last two months since moving to Pinecraft not a day had passed that Noah Yoder hadn't wondered if he'd made the right choice. He'd had plenty of work in Illinois. Had God really sent him to Florida? Or had he just imagined he could be used in this way?

His whole life Noah had been drawn to broken things and enjoyed fixing them up and giving them new life. Maybe it was because he'd been broken for a while—drawn to the ways of the world. Yet a godly man—his father's friend—took the time to help him, to teach him a trade. To guide him in paying restitution and showing him that life could be different.

But could he do the same?

They pulled up to the large bay view cottage, and Noah imagined the description on the realtor's website—“charm and character throughout.” The large, rambling house was half-hidden by mature trees. The long white porch looked freshly painted, but the shingled siding could use some work.

They climbed from the truck to get a better view of the place. The ocean breeze was refreshing, even in the heat of the day. He imagined what it would be like to sit on the lawn behind the house on a cool evening. Of course, what realtors considered “charming” new buyers often saw as just old. He'd seen more than one house like this being completely gutted and updated. It was sad to him.

“Rick is coming in tomorrow, and they're stripping it down to the framing,” Noah said. “He said we can have anything we can haul away. They're bringing a large dumpster tomorrow for everything else.”

Daniel gave a low whistle. “It's just a shame. I think it's pretty just as it is.”

They walked up the steps and the teens took off first, which surprised Noah.

“There're some great columns in here,” Atlee called out.

“Hey, Noah, you need to check out this paneling in the dining room. It's vintage for sure,” Gerald said.

“Yes, the paneling can go with us,” Noah called to him. “Rick already mentioned that.”

The older driver walked with them, keeping pace. Daniel liked to go along with them. He'd sit and watch the work, and he always had some type of story to share about things he'd done or people he'd met.

“It makes no sense.” Daniel shook his head. “People buy old houses and then they gut them out and make them new.” He chuckled. “But then folks who buy new houses buy all the old stuff and make them look old.”

Noah had seen the same thing. That was why Sarasota Salvage was doing so well. People liked adding old pieces like sinks, faucets, mantels, and columns, into their new homes. Those things made them comfortable. They gave people a sense of being connected with history, even in modern times.

“One man's trash is another man's treasure.” If Noah had heard that one time growing up he'd heard it a thousand.

“You should see my grandpa's place up in Arcola,” Mose commented. “It's an auction yard and you can find anything you need there.”

“And lots of things you don't need,” Noah said with a smirk.

He walked over and eyed a large hall mirror. He ran his hand down the molding. He knew with a little work and a lot of patience he'd be able to remove it from the wall. And it was exactly the type of thing his friends at the salvage store liked.

“I grew up with all those things. I loved it when a new customer showed up and needed help unloading,” Noah told the group. “I tried to be the first to haul and sort things—just so I could see
what was there. Most Amish boys don't get to be around much stuff, but my friends and I used to play in the old cars. I test drove a small motorcycle when I was only seven. I took apart broken electronics that my dad was throwing away just to see how they worked.”

“Not much of an Amish upbringing with all those worldly things,” Mose teased.

It was heating up outside, and that made it even hotter inside. Noah took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. As if reading his thoughts, Atlee walked to the front windows and opened them, letting in a breeze.

“Sorting through all that junk was good for me, though. It gave me a better understanding of the outside world. Of course, that also made it too easy to walk away from the Plain life.”

Mose nodded and moved to head upstairs. Noah knew he'd heard the story many times. Mose had been heading down the wrong path that Noah had been on for a good while. A path that brought only pain, loss, and heartache along the way.

Noah had stepped in and tried to be a good influence on his nephew. The thing was, it was hard trying to save someone who didn't want to be saved.

At least Mose had agreed to come to Florida and encouraged his friends to do the same. That was why Noah was hoping to get a big project like the warehouse. He wanted something—one project—that they could invest themselves in. He wanted them to see that they could make a difference. He wanted them to have their hands in the transformation, and maybe through that they'd allow God to work in them too.

He walked through the house, and Gerald walked by his side, most eager to see what was in the next room.

“When we start unloading the rooms, let's start upstairs,”
Noah said. “We'll load up the truck with big things, and then Mose and Atlee can help unload while we work on getting the stuff downstairs.”

“Where are Mose and Atlee?” Gerald asked, peering over the railing and looking downstairs.

A sinking feeling hit the pit of Noah's gut. Then he heard it—the sound of an outside water faucet turning on. The creak and groan of water moving through old pipes rumbled through the walls. Noah moved to the back window and peered out. The other teens were splashing each other to cool off. At least they weren't causing any trouble.

Noah took a small notebook out of his back pocket and pulled a pencil from the pocket in his shirt. He ripped out a piece of paper and handed both to Gerald.

“Why don't you make a list of everything worth taking upstairs? I'll start with the downstairs.”

Gerald's face brightened. “You're gonna trust me with that?” he asked.

Noah saw the hopeful look in his eyes—the look that told him Gerald appreciated being trusted. “If I don't trust you, you'll never learn.”

Noah went downstairs and walked through the house, making a note of anything someone might be interested in. He smiled as he considered how excited he was to find original bathroom fixtures. Very rarely did people leave behind light fixtures, because they knew those had worth. They just had no idea how the little things that were often overlooked could add up.