The Amish Bride (10 page)

Neziah pulled him out gently, stood him on his feet and took a firm hold of his hand. “I’m sorry. Leave the mess, Nellie. I’ll clean it up, after I scrub this one off.” Joel had so much meringue on his face that he looked as though he was wearing a beard. Lemon custard trailed down his shirt and soiled his pants and shoes. A large gob of lemon clung to one knee.

Neziah looked from the boy to the circle of amused faces that had gathered around him and wished he were anywhere but there. And then, he couldn’t help himself. He began to laugh, not simply an embarrassed chuckle that anyone could understand, but a deep, rolling belly laugh.

Which was how Ellen found him when she came back in the room, exposing himself for what he was: an indulgent father who allowed his sons to misbehave at church and then didn’t even have the decency to discipline them as they so soundly deserved.

* * *

“I don’t see that what they did was so terrible,” Ellen’s father said the next morning at breakfast. They had been talking about Neziah’s boys and their exploit with the pie. He held out his cup and she refilled it with steaming hot coffee. “Better to laugh than to have the opposite reaction,” he added. “If it had been your grandfather, it would have been off to the woodshed for me. I’d not have been able to sit for a week.”

“
Grossvadder
Beachey was strict?” Ellen asked. She had never known him, other than by reputation, because he’d died before she was born. She walked to the stove to bring over the scrambled eggs and scrapple. Toast, stewed prunes and tomato juice were already on the table.

“Very strict,” her father said. “He used to quote from the Bible all the time, ‘Spare the rod and spoil the child.’”

“So it says. Thankfully, you were of a different opinion. For if anyone was a gentle father, you were,
Vadder
.” Her mother smiled at her husband. “Let us give thanks.”

This was one of her
mam
’s good days, and Ellen was grateful for that. Her mother had even insisted on cooking most of the meal, and the eggs were fluffy and the scrapple crispy on the outside and perfectly done. Ellen looked around the table and felt a surge of love for her parents. They had raised her with gentleness and patience, and she’d never doubted how much they both treasured her. She slid into her chair and clasped her mother’s soft hand. All three closed their eyes and lowered their heads for the blessing.

“And what little boys
wouldn’t
want a whole lemon meringue pie to themselves, if they could get away with it?” her mother asked when grace was finished. She laughed. “I might have done the same thing if no one had been looking!”

Ellen’s father laughed and added milk to his wife’s coffee.

The theft of the pie hadn’t surprised Ellen as much as Neziah’s reaction. She would have thought that he would have insisted on punishing the children. The old Neziah certainly had been more rigid. It was to his credit that he’d carted the boys off, cleaned them up and seen that they had at least the appearance of a good dinner before the final service. And he’d made not the slightest reference to the incident when he’d driven them home after church.
Maybe he
has
changed
, she thought.

But the reasons they’d broken up were still lodged firmly in her memory. Many times in the past ten years she’d reminded herself that she’d been wise to call off their courtship when she did...or they did. She had believed that Neziah would be happier with someone whose inclination was more biddable than her own, someone like Betty, the wife he had later chosen. He and Betty had been happy, as far as she could see, and probably would be happy still if she hadn’t lost her life at such a young age.

“You remember that I wanted to go into the shop this morning?” Ellen said when there was a lull in the conversation. She had bills to pay and bookkeeping to do. The craft shop was always closed on Sundays and Mondays, but she liked to go in for a few hours on Monday because she could get so much done with no customers to tend to.

“
Jah
, you go on, dear,” her mother said. “I’ll clean up the dishes. If you go now, you can be home in time for dinner. I’m making succotash with tomatoes and onions. It’s a Delaware recipe my sister Sara sent me in her last letter. She lives in Kent County now, you know. Moved there from Wisconsin.”

“Your sister?” her father asked. “You talking about Sara Yoder? Isn’t she a second or third cousin?”

“
Jah
,
Vadder
, didn’t I just say so?” She waved toward the door. “Go on, go on, Ellen. I’ll
rett
up this kitchen faster than a horse can trot.”

Ellen glanced at her father, and he nodded. “You heard your mother,” he said. “We’ll be fine. If she needs help, I’m here.”

Ellen arrived in Honeysuckle early enough that it was still pleasantly cool. Early September could be overly warm, but it was still cloudy after the previous day’s heavy rain, and she suspected there might be another shower before dark. She waved to one of the neighbors walking his dog and pushed the scooter around behind her store. All was quiet. No horses tied at the hitching rail and no hummingbirds at the feeder. The glass feeder with its faux red flowers was almost empty. She’d have to boil up a fresh batch of sugar and water for the hummingbirds this morning. She and Dinah loved to watch the tiny birds hovering in the air and zooming past the windows of the shop.

Ellen pushed the scooter up to the enclosed back porch and opened the wooden door. It was dim inside, and she paused to allow her eyes to adjust to the semidarkness. When she could see again, she wheeled the scooter past the first of the big freezers.

She sensed, rather than saw, the dark lump along the far wall. Alarmed, she stopped short, peering at the object, a blanket or— Suddenly, Ellen’s heart began to beat faster. There was a low murmur, and then a figure leapt up out of what appeared to be a sleeping bag.

Uttering a startled cry of alarm, the intruder scrambled past her. “I’m sorry! So sorry!” She rushed through the open doorway and into the backyard. Ellen dropped the scooter, which fell to the floor with a crash. She hurried to the door in time to see the girl with a ponytail, wearing English clothing, fleeing across the backyard toward the line of trees that separated the store property from the house behind them.

“Wait!” Ellen called after her. “Come back!” She picked up a worn pink sneaker the girl had dropped. “You won’t get far without your shoe!”

Chapter Nine

T
he trespasser stopped and turned around. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I didn’t steal anything. I promise.”

Ellen came down the back steps still holding the young woman’s shoe. “I didn’t accuse you of taking anything.” Now that she had a better look at her, Ellen was certain she’d seen her before, but not in jeans and a Philadelphia Eagles T-shirt. “You’ll need your sneaker.” Ellen held it. The footwear had clearly seen better days. The canvas material was worn thin; the lace had broken and was held together with knots.

Ellen heard the scrape of a window raising on the second floor of the house.
“Vas is?”
Dinah called down. “What’s all the shouting? Is everything all right down there?”

“Everything’s fine.” Ellen smiled and waved up at her. “Everything’s fine.”

Dinah looked down at the girl suspiciously, then at Ellen and slowly closed the window.

Ellen returned her attention to the girl, who was definitely older than she seemed at first glance, probably late teens or early twenties. It was difficult for Ellen to guess the age of
Englishers
because of their dress, hairstyles and makeup. But this girl wasn’t wearing makeup, not even lipstick.

She was small and rail-thin with a heart-shaped face and large brown eyes that were shiny with tears she was obviously trying to hold back. Ellen suddenly remembered where she’d seen her before; the jeans and T-shirt had thrown her off. Last time she saw the girl, she’d been wearing a below-the-knee, blue gingham dress with a white apron and scarf—the uniform that all the waitresses wore at the Mennonite restaurant down the street. “Please, take your shoe.” Ellen’s heart rate had returned to somewhere near normal, and she tried to keep her voice soft as she moved nearer. “I’m not angry. You just startled me.”

“Please don’t call the police.” The young woman was trembling from head to foot. “I’m not a thief.” She moistened her lips nervously with the tip of a small pink tongue. “Please don’t have me arrested.”

There was something so vulnerable in her eyes that Ellen felt her stomach knot. She didn’t look like a dishonest person or a dangerous one, but she
did
look desperate...and possibly hungry. “I’m not going to call the police,” Ellen said. “Please, come inside. I’ll put on a pot of tea, and we can talk about it.”

The girl shook her head as she reached for her shoe. “If I could just have my sleeping bag, I promise I won’t ever bother you again.”

“You work for Margaret, don’t you?” Ellen rested her hand on her hip. “At the restaurant? I’ve seen you waiting on tables, but we haven’t met. What’s your name?”

The girl stood on one foot while she hastily tugged her shoe over her bare foot. “I shouldn’t have sneaked into your house, but...” She wiped her hand on her jeans and extended her hand. “I’m Gail...Bond.”

Ellen studied her. There was a definite
Deitsch
accent, enough that she suspected the girl’s last name might be something less English. “Well, Gail Bond, you’d best come inside with me before Dinah gets even more curious. There’s no need for us to alarm the neighbors, is there?”

Gail shook her head.

“Come on.” Ellen waved her toward the door. “Troubles always seem lighter over tea.” She led the way back to the house, half expecting the girl to cut and run. Inside the enclosed porch, Ellen removed a ring of keys from her pocket and unlocked the door that led to the back rooms of the shop. Picking up the basket of food her mother had sent for Dinah, she stepped into the back hall.

Gail followed hesitantly as Ellen led her through a storeroom and into the large, old-fashioned kitchen with its rose-patterned linoleum floor, vintage Hoosier’s cupboard and round oak table. “The whole building used to be a single-family home once,” Ellen explained as she switched on an electric light.

The kitchen of the original house remained, altered over so many years and changes of owners, and rebuilt after the fire destroyed the floor and built-in cabinets. Nothing was fancy, but the twenty-year-old stove and aging refrigerator worked well enough, and there was hot and cold running water.

“You’re Amish.” Gail glanced up at the overhead light fixture. “You’re not supposed to use electricity.”

“
Nay
, I’m not supposed to use electricity,” Ellen agreed. She filled the teakettle with water and put it on the stove to heat. “But because this is a business, we have to have a telephone, electricity, even a computer. Our Bishop Andy is understanding. He allows modern conveniences for commercial establishments, within reason. Please, sit down.” She waved toward the table.

“I really shouldn’t,” Gail protested, hovering in the doorway. “It was wrong of me to sleep here. The only reason I did,” she added hesitantly, “was because it rained yesterday, and I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

Ellen thought about the sounds Dinah thought she had heard, and the empty soda can she herself had found. “But this isn’t the first time you slept on my porch, is it?”

Gail shook her head slowly.

“Thank you for being honest.” Ellen pointed to a closed door. “That hallway leads to the bathroom. It’s private. There’s no one here but the two of us. Why don’t you take a few minutes to freshen up while I make our tea?” Ellen lifted the lid of her basket and removed a container of deviled eggs, several biscuits, a quart jar of canned peaches and a generous helping of sausage.

Gail eyed the food. “I couldn’t. You’ve been kind enough. I should go. I can’t be late for work.”

“What time do you have to be at the restaurant?”

“Eleven. For the noon shift. I’m not full-time, not yet, but—”

“It’s early yet. You have plenty of time. I won’t take no for an answer,” Ellen said. “You know Margaret wants her staff to be spotless. Why don’t you take a shower and wash your hair. There are towels under the sink. We’ll have tea and a bite to eat when you’re done.”

Gail eyed her warily. “Why would you be so nice to me after what I did?”

Ellen thought for a minute. “Because you’d do the same for me.”

“I hope so.” A shy smile brightened her thin face. “No, I would. I know I would,” she answered. “But promise you won’t call the police?”

Ellen responded in
Deitsch
. “Nonsense. Of course I won’t. And if I’d spent the night on a dusty floor, I’d want to wash up. There’s shampoo, soap in there, too. Please, make yourself at home.” She smiled at her. “My guess is that you’ve had a rough time.”

Gail didn’t have to answer. The look on her face was proof enough.

“How old are you?” Ellen switched back to English.

The girl stared down at small hands, nails bitten to the quick. “Nineteen.”

“Really?” She could be younger, and Ellen didn’t want to encourage an underage runaway.

“Nineteen years and two months.” The certainty in Gail’s answer made Ellen believe that she was being truthful. Gail hovered by the table, hands trembling, clearly wanting to stay, clearly needing a friend.

“And you’re Amish, like me.”

“
Was
Amish. I was raised in the faith.” Gail swallowed and looked down at the floor. “I ran away...” She raised her head and met Ellen’s gaze. “You must think that I’m a terrible person.”

Ellen chuckled. “I’ll think you’re a foolish person if you don’t go in there and have a shower.”

Gail was in and out of the shower in less than ten minutes, face scrubbed shiny clean, hair pulled back tight into a finger-combed ponytail, looking all of fourteen. She came back into the room shyly, glancing around as if she expected to see Pennsylvania State Troopers ready to snap handcuffs on her. “How did you know I was
Deitsch
?” she asked when she decided the coast was clear. “Is it the way I talk?”

Ellen chuckled and waved her to the table. Actually, Gail looked enough like some of her younger cousins to be part of the family. It was hard to miss the fair German complexion and the ruddy cheeks. But more than that, it was the
look
that most young Amish women had, an appearance of unworldliness that you didn’t see in the English. “Tea first and then talk,” she suggested.

It took some coaxing, but eventually Ellen got Gail to eat two deviled eggs, a biscuit with sausage and a dish of peaches. Ellen was certain that the girl hadn’t had breakfast, and she suspected that there had been no supper the previous night.

“When did you last eat?”

“After work Saturday. Margaret lets us have anything from the buffet on Saturday night. They don’t serve any of the leftovers on Monday. Someone picks it up for animal feed.”

Ellen sipped her tea. “If you’ve been working, why are you homeless?”

Gail grimaced. “I was renting a trailer with two other girls out on Fox Hole Road. I paid my share every week, but I came home from work one night to find everything gone, even my clothes. All I had left was what I had on me and twelve dollars. The next day the landlord padlocked the doors. I guess Jackie kept my money and never paid the rent.” She shrugged. “I thought I could trust her.”

“And this Jackie used to work at the restaurant?”

“For almost a year. She was a cashier.”

Ellen had heard from Margaret that she’d had to let a girl go because her register never balanced out correctly at the end of the day. “How long ago was this? That you lost the trailer?”

“About a month ago.”

“Where have you stayed since then?”

“Here and there. Once, I slept in a barn. It wasn’t bad, but it was smelly, and I didn’t want to go to work smelling like sheep. But then I saw people going in and out of your back porch, so I knew it wasn’t locked.” Gail looked down at her hands, clearly embarrassed. “Usually, I’m out by six-thirty, but your store isn’t open on Mondays, so I slept later.” She wrinkled her nose and rose to take her plate and teacup to the sink. “Too late, I guess.”

“Aren’t you scared?” Ellen asked. “Living on the street?”

“Sometimes, maybe a little, but people in Honeysuckle are nice,” Gail admitted. She turned from the sink. “Please don’t tell Margaret. If she fires me, I don’t know what I’ll do. It’s hard getting a job without papers, and my father wouldn’t give them to me.”

Ellen understood. Some Amish parents refused to hand over birth certificates and social security cards in an attempt to force their kids to come back home. Amish teens often had only an eighth-or ninth-grade education. Boys who wanted to leave the Plain life had carpenter skills. They could get construction jobs, but most girls knew nothing but homemaking and childcare. The English world could be a dangerous place for a young woman without skills and life experience, especially one who trusted strangers too easily.

Gail washed her cup and plate and set it in the drying rack on the counter. “I should go. This was really nice of you to let me shower. And to share your breakfast with me.”

“I’m glad I had something to share.”

“I’m going to go.” Gail walked to the doorway and picked up her crumpled sleeping bag and big backpack. “Thanks again. I mean it.”

“Where will you go tonight?” Ellen asked, carrying her teacup to the sink.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be all right.”

Ellen walked toward Gail. “Have you thought about going home?”

“Every day.” She hung her head, then slowly lifted it to look at Ellen. “But I’m not going to.” She exhaled. “My father is not a ‘spare the rod’ sort.” She looked down at her feet and then back up at Ellen again. “I’ll save up, rent a room somewhere and maybe buy a car. Then I might want to go to school, get a high-school diploma.” She straightened to her full height. “I can’t thank you enough for being so nice to me.”

Ellen walked her out through the back and watched her cut across the grass toward the street. Ellen was just walking down the hall toward the front of the shop when Dinah came down the stairs. “Who was that?”

“Um...Gail. You might know her from the diner? She’s a waitress.”

Dinah made a sound of disapproval but didn’t respond. She hustled into the main shop, carrying a broom. “After I’ve dusted and swept I have some visiting to do. I’ll be back late in the afternoon to unpack the boxes that came Friday.”

“It’s your day off, Dinah. You know I don’t expect you to work on your day off,” Ellen said, walking around the counter to grab her accounts notebook. She tried to do her accounting on the computer the way her accountant had showed her, but she liked to keep tallies on paper, as well.

There was a knock at the door and both women glanced in that direction. The Closed sign hung in the window.

Ellen bent to see who was at the door. “It’s Simeon,” she said with surprise. “Let him in.”

Dinah went to the door, turned the dead bolt and opened it.

“You’re closed today,” Simeon said, smiling at them both. “And here the two of you are, hard at work as usual.”

“Not so hard,” Dinah said, latching the door behind him. “Just sweeping up a bit of dust.”

He gave Dinah an appraising look. “I don’t know why you want to live in Honeysuckle, away from the community. An attractive woman like you.” He winked at her. “Don’t you think it’s time you remarried?”

“I like my independence,” Dinah proclaimed as she resumed sweeping. “You giving advice on getting married is the pot calling the kettle black, Simeon Shetler.” She rapped one of his crutches with the bristle end of the broom to make him move. “Even as troublesome, long-winded and free with sweet talk as you are, I imagine someone would have you.”

Ellen grinned and went back to looking for her notebook in the bin under the counter. If she didn’t know better, she’d think the two of them were sweet on each other.

“You may not believe me, Dinah, but I’m only speaking the truth.” Simeon leaned against a set of shelves his boys had made for the store the previous year. They were pine and meant to be utilitarian, but they were beautiful just the same. “You look ten years younger than you are,” he went on. “And you can outcook and outsew any young woman in Lancaster County.”

“Go on with you,” Dinah fussed. “I wasn’t born in a celery patch. Everyone knows you can charm the crows off the fence posts with your blather.” But Ellen knew by the flush of Dinah’s cheeks that she was pleased.