The Amish Bride (24 page)

Rosalee shuddered a little. “I remember those remedies well. When I was sick, my
daed
would send me down to the
daadi haus
for one of her ‘treatments.’ Ugh.” She stepped toward the side door of the house.

A brown vine, probably clematis, wound its way around the railing and up the weathered steps. The roof above it sagged a little and was covered with moss. Rosalee led the way into a mudroom and then through that to a large kitchen. Pine cabinets lined the walls all the way around, and in the middle of the room was a table covered in a blue-checkered cloth with an old kerosene lantern sitting at the center. I was pleased to see a small propane refrigerator and stove. So at least Rosalee’s district approved some modern conveniences, thank goodness.

“The bathroom is down this hall,” Rosalee said, and then she smiled, probably at the look of relief on my face. “And where you’ll sleep is too.”

I followed her, poking my head into the bathroom. It had a toilet, sink, and shower, nothing fancy but more than adequate. To my relief, there was a propane lamp to the side of the sink.

Rosalee motioned toward the next open door, and I joined her in a few more steps. There was a twin bed, covered with a quilt. On the dresser was a set of sheets, two towels, and a washcloth. It was obvious she’d expected me to come. There were three pegs on the wall, next to a window with simple white curtains. I peeked out and could see the garden, the barn, and the woods in the near distance. It was a lovely room.

“Thank you.” I slid the box on top of the dresser and set my backpack on the floor, wondering who all had slept in here through the years.

Rosalee turned toward the door. “I’ll be finishing up in the bakery. Come join me after you’ve put your things away and had a look around.”

I placed the torn pages from the bridal magazines and my jeans in the bottom drawer of the dresser. I knew I wouldn’t need those for a while. I hung my dresses, coat, and cape on the pegs, and then I set my second pair of shoes next to the wall.

Once back in the kitchen, I headed around to the foyer, past the open staircase and over to the second wing, which was a large living room. It was as big as the kitchen and sparsely furnished with a sofa, a cabinet, a recliner, and three straight-back chairs. As with most Amish homes, it could easily hold a church service or even a wedding. There were two bookcases, both full, and a small table under the window facing the front porch.

I wondered if Rosalee had any children and where they lived, surprised one of them didn’t live with her. Most Amish women her age would have a son running the farm and a houseful of grandchildren to help with.

Rosalee had said I could check out the place, so I headed up the open staircase. Nearly every step creaked, and I couldn’t help but notice the dust bunnies in the corners. On the landing, I stopped to look out the window. It faced the woods. I was eye level with a canopy of new leaves, each one a different shade of brilliant green, contrasting with the dark needles of the fir and pine trees. Down the hall was closed door after closed door. Reminding myself that Rosalee had said it was okay, I opened the first one.

The room was empty. The walls were painted an off-white, as was the trim. The closet was completely empty as well. The next room had a bed and bureau, but it was obviously vacant. The next one was sparsely furnished too, but there were dresses and
kapps
hanging on the pegs. Realizing it was Rosalee’s room, I shut the door in a hurry. I was surprised she slept upstairs and not down, closer to the bathroom.

Then the next door I opened dispelled that notion. It was a fairly new bathroom, probably added within the last ten years.

There were two more completely vacant rooms and then one filled
with a bed, several bureaus, and two desks. Judging by how they were piled, she used it as a storage room. At the end of the hall was another door, which I opened and saw that it led to the attic staircase. I ventured upward. There was enough light coming in from a small window at the far end for me to make my way. I stood on the last step, squinting, and could make out several trunks and cardboard boxes. I opened the closest box to find a set of white dishes. The next box had a couple of quilts in it. And the third was full of clothing, mostly trousers and shirts. The trunks were all empty.

Puzzled, I decided I’d snooped around enough for now. If the drawings were in the house, they weren’t in plain sight. One thing was obvious—Rosalee wasn’t a pack rat. For the house being in the family so long, the place was practically bare.
Mammi
’s tiny
daadi haus
had more things crammed into it than this entire building did.

I went downstairs and then outside. As I walked toward the bakery, I noted again the entrance to the underground cellar, a stone staircase leading down to a wood door. I would visit it later. Off to the side were raspberry and blueberry bushes and, beyond that, the orchard. Clearly, Rosalee raised far more produce than she needed for herself. I wondered how much of it she used in her bakery.

I walked around to the front of Plain Treats, impressed again with the clever name. The sign in the window still read “Closed,” but the door was unlocked.

The smell of freshly baked bread and rosemary greeted me as I stepped inside. Everything was clean, though I could see immediately that the walls needed to be repainted and the seats of some of the gray vinyl chairs, pushed up against gray faux-marble tables, had little tears. There was a small glass case filled with pastries, sticky buns, and loaves of bread.

I heard voices coming from the kitchen. I recognized both of them.

“Can you bring Millie to help tomorrow?” Rosalee asked.

Luke said, “If you don’t mind if Eddie comes with her.
Mamm
hasn’t been feeling well again.”

Rosalee didn’t answer.

I stopped at the counter, unsure if I should continue.

Luke laughed. “So, is it worth it for Millie to come?”

“Has Eddie calmed down any?”

I couldn’t make out his response, but I could hear the chorus of their laughter that followed. Though they had been nearly silent with me, neither one of them seemed shy talking with the other.

I took the opportunity to step past the counter and into the kitchen. “What can I do?” I asked.

Rosalee nodded toward the sink. “Wash up and then you can help us bag this bread.”

They were both standing at a stainless steel table, slipping loaves into plastic bags, their hands in latex gloves. I stepped over to the sink and began scrubbing. The kitchen was much smaller than the one at the restaurant. There was a gas stove with two big ovens and an industrial-sized mixer, which to my relief was plugged into an outlet in the wall, meaning I’d be able to charge my phone here.

On the other side of the room was a rack with trays of rolls, pies, and pastries. At the far end were two closed doors, one with a “Restroom” sign on it.

“Did this used to be a house?” I dried my hands and slipped on gloves from a box by the sink.

“
Ya
,” Rosalee answered. “It was the
daadi haus.
My grandparents lived here while I was growing up. We turned it into a bakery a year ago.”

The other door probably led to what had at one time been the bedroom. This was where Rosalee came for her grandmother’s remedies. I took a deep breath. Sarah had lived both here and at the Home Place.

Rosalee explained that one of the long-term goals for the bakery was to get orders to area stores, and this was their first one. The labels on the bags read “Amish Bread from Plain Treats, Nappanee, Indiana.” Then there was a list of ingredients and the address in small print.

“You have a nice place here,” I said. “The bakery. The house. All of it.”

Rosalee didn’t answer, and Luke kept his head down.

Feeling awkward that neither had responded, I rushed on. “How do you keep up with everything?”

“We manage,” Rosalee said, glancing at Luke. “Although, Luke has had to spend more time at his
daed
’s dairy again. That’s why we need you.”

I blushed. It sounded as though Ezra having to go home had affected her too.

Wanting to change the subject, I asked if she got much business out this far.

“A little more each month,” Rosalee answered. And then
she
changed the subject. “I understand you’re interested in going to baking school.”

I shrugged, not looking up as I slipped a loaf into a bag. I didn’t want to talk about my desire to go to school. I was certain she’d have the same response as Aunt Klara and Nancy did back home, that it was foolish to take classes on something I should be learning at home.

“What’s your schedule out here?”

“I get started at four thirty,” she said. “Luke helps when he can, some in the bakery but mostly on the farm.” She twisted a bag shut.

“Why aren’t you open today?”

“I was. Until we came and got you,” she said matter-of-factly.

Luke began placing the bread back on the racks, and just as we were completing the work, a deliveryman arrived. Rosalee counted the loaves of bread with him and then signed a form. We followed him out to his panel truck.

“Where’s the bread going?” I asked as the driver put the trays in the back.

“Indianapolis,” Rosalee answered. “It will be on store shelves by morning.”

All three of us watched the truck turn toward the road, and then I followed her back up to the house, while Luke headed to the barn.

“I’m going to sit for a spell and then start dinner,” she said when we reached the kitchen.

“I’ll help.”

“Give me a few minutes,” she said, her brow creased under her
kapp
. “I need a little time to just be.”

I shuffled down the hall, back into my room, wondering if I was an imposition. No matter. Rosalee wouldn’t have to put up with me for long. And I intended to more than pull my own weight while I was here.

As I entered my room, I heard voices outside the window. I peeked through the gauzy curtain to see Luke standing a few yards away. I couldn’t see Rosalee, but I could hear her voice. “
Ya
. Clean the coop. We can worry about the garden tomorrow.”

I wiped my hands on my apron. Cleaning the coop was something I could help with and not be in Rosalee’s way while she made dinner—as long as she had a pair of boots I could wear.

I stepped into the kitchen quietly. She was sitting at the table again, her head bowed. I wasn’t sure if she was dozing or praying.

“I can help Luke,” I said.

She opened her eyes but didn’t look at me.

I quickly explained I didn’t have any boots.

“There’s a pair in the mudroom,” she said, looking at my feet. “They should fit.”

When I arrived in the doorway of the coop, Luke nodded his head and pointed to an extra shovel by the wheelbarrow as if he’d been expecting me. But after we’d worked for at least half an hour in silence—except for the five times I’d tried to get a conversation going—I was sure he thought I was an annoyance, maybe even a troublemaker. He seemed as interested in me as he was in one of the squawking chickens.

Finally I asked how sales were for the bakery. I’d sensed earlier that they were less than stellar.

He shrugged. “That’s Rosalee’s business, don’t you think?”

Feeling chastised, I shut up.

Luke was a fast and hard worker. And strong. After we dumped the manure in a pile behind the barn, we put the shovels away in the toolshed. I stood in the middle, looking around in awe. It was full of hooks and pulleys. The wheelbarrow was hanging from the ceiling, as was a push lawnmower. Each shovel, hoe, and cultivator had its own hanger. The garden stakes and string each had a slot, and even the watering cans had a custom-made shelf.

“Wow,” I said, twirling around. “Who’s the master organizer?”

Luke blushed, which I expected. “I like to tinker,” he said.

“I’d say so.”

I followed him toward the house, kicked the boots off on the back porch, and then greeted Rosalee in the kitchen.

“We’ll eat in five minutes,” she said, standing at the stove, the table set for three.

“I’ll go wash up.”

Luke still stood at the edge of the mud porch, but I had a feeling he was watching me as I walked down the hall.

By the time I returned to the kitchen, he was sitting at the head of the table and Rosalee was dishing creamed corn into a serving bowl. She directed me to sit to the right of Luke. Mashed potatoes, a plate of ham slices, and a bowl of chard were already on the table. She sat down and Luke led us in a silent prayer. A few moments later he picked up his fork and I followed suit.

The three of us ate in silence for several minutes. I chewed my dry ham for what seemed a near eternity. Then I took a bite of the chard, which was overcooked. The mashed potatoes needed more butter, and the creamed corn wasn’t very hot. I hoped Rosalee was a better baker than cook.

I took a drink of the pinkish juice in my glass. It was a rhubarb punch, I was sure. I’d come across a recipe for it, although I’d never had it before. It was tart and sweet. I analyzed the taste, guessing it also had pineapple juice in it. It was delicious.