The Amish Bride (27 page)

“
Oui.
” The woman smiled. “I’m Elizabeth. I’m in charge of the culinary school. And Pierre teaches the baking classes.”

“I’m interested in baking,” I said, glancing at Penny.

“Likewise,” she chimed in.

A look of disappointment passed over the woman’s face as she said, “I’ll get Pierre.” She spoke without any hint of an accent and looked more like a regular Midwest mom than a French chef.

She disappeared through a door, and I glanced around again. The ceiling was high with crown molding around the top. The tables and chairs were dark wood, and the floor was stone tile. Tall, leafy plants graced two corners, and black-and-white photos of loaves of bread, pastries, and cakes hung on the walls. There was also a series of group shots of people holding up what looked like diplomas.

The woman returned. “Pierre is busy right now. He wants to know if you can come back tomorrow.”

“We’re from out of town,” Penny said, smiling hopefully.

The woman frowned.

For a moment I wondered if there was a Pierre at all. Maybe there was a Midwestern man named Peter. Maybe it was some sort of scam. But then she said,
“Bien.
Come with me.”

We followed her through the door and into a cavernous kitchen. “He’s back here, teaching.”

My jaw fell. There was stainless steel table after table. Each had a mixer, a hot plate, and a set of utensils. On the far wall was a row of ovens. Back in a corner of the room, a group of people gathered around a table. As we neared it, I saw each had a round cake.

It seemed to be a school after all. As I stepped closer, I recognized Pierre from his photo on the website. He was shorter than I thought he’d be, though, shorter than me and rounder too. His brown eyes were lively as he spoke. He had his dark hair pulled back in a short ponytail, and he wore a double-breasted white coat with brass buttons.

“Everyone, hold up your cake.” He spoke with an accent. “This is your canvas. Think very carefully about what you want to create on it.”

The woman nodded toward Penny and me. “They can’t come back tomorrow.”

Pierre made an exasperated face and stepped toward me. “Where are you from?”

“Lancaster County, Pennsylvania.”

“Why do you want to come here?”

I wanted to tell him I wasn’t sure I did.

“I’m staying in Nappanee but not for long. This is the closest cooking school, and everything I’ve read about it sounds wonderful.”

He turned toward Elizabeth again. “Do we not have an information sheet you can give her?”

“You said you were going to update it.”

“I have a packet.” I held up the envelope. “And it seems my mother has already enrolled me. I just wanted to see the place. And to meet you.”

He touched the top of his paper chef’s hat. “Oh, I see,” he said. “And your name is?”

“Ella Bayer.”

“
Oui
.” He grinned and shuffled his feet. “Welcome. You start with the next group,
non
?”

“It seems that way—”

“We begin with bread. Then pastries. Finally we do cakes. I will insert lectures on the business side of things—bookkeeping, insurance, employee matters, those sorts of concerns—along the way. Just a general overview, you understand”

I nodded, hoping I could supplement the information from that one session with what I’d be learning about the business from Rosalee.

“Unless you are interested in Elizabeth’s cooking school.” A concerned expression settled on his face.

“Oh, no. Baking. That’s what I want.”

“Are you sure?” He laughed, and pointing at me, he said, “I would take you for a cook instead. With your apron and head thing you look as if you are ready to make a big farm dinner.” He chuckled again.

He turned toward Penny. “You are not Ella’s mother, no? You don’t like look her. You don’t dress like her.”

Penny simply said, “I’m a friend. I gave her a ride. And I’d like the same packet, please. I may be interested as well.”

“Wonderful. We happen to have room, just for you.” He smiled encouragingly at Penny and then waved us off. “As you can see, I am busy. See you in May.” He turned to Elizabeth and said, “Sorry. Everyone wants to learn to bake.”

She ignored him.

Pierre addressed his students again. “First, the cake must taste delicious. Then you can worry about decorating it,
non
? Who cares how pretty a cake is if it does not taste divine. That includes the frosting…”

We followed Elizabeth back through the kitchen and back to the front counter, where she retrieved a packet for Penny.

“I need a price sheet too,” I said. Even though
Mammi
had already paid, I still wanted to know what her investment was.

After we thanked her, Penny said quietly, “Pierre seems a little disorganized.”

She laughed. “
Oui.
But he really knows his stuff. He taught at the
university for a couple of years. A lot of college students in the hospitality program take classes from him now.”

“What about you?” Penny asked.

“
Moi
?” She laughed again. “I was born and raised here in South Bend, but I graduated from the Chicago Culinary School.”

My eyebrows shot up.

“Have you heard of it?” Elizabeth asked.

“Of course.”

“It’s a good school. But ours is too, even though we’re small and we don’t have accreditation.”

Penny and I both thanked her. I studied the price sheet. It was comparable to other programs I’d seen. More expensive than the community college in Lancaster but not outrageous. Not enough to make me feel guilty that
Mammi
was the one paying. After all, she’d paid for Ada to go to Switzerland. She could pay for me to go to baking school.

On the way home, Penny asked, “What would you think if I signed up and went with you?”

“I think that would be great.” I meant it. If I stayed, I’d have a ride, and it would be nice to have someone to discuss the classes with. I had a feeling Rosalee wouldn’t exactly be enthusiastic.

When we got back to Nappanee, Penny parked in front of the café and then walked in with me to talk with Kendra and Wes about carrying baked goods from Plain Treats in the restaurant. No one was in the dining hall, so we pushed through the kitchen door, Penny calling out, “Knock, knock!”

Both of my former bosses were sitting on stools and having a cup of coffee, but they seemed happy to see me and fine with the interruption.

I handed each of them a business card.

“Rosalee makes pies. Sticky buns. Rolls. Bread. Pastries. All homemade with farm-fresh ingredients from old Amish recipes.”

“You are quite the saleswoman,” Wes said. He stood and put his coffee cup on the butcher block in the middle of the kitchen. “What do you think?” he asked Kendra.

“It would save us some time.” She turned toward me. “How are the prices?”

“Amazing. Rosalee’s overhead is really low.” At least I assumed it was. The building was paid for. My compensation was room and board. I had no idea what she paid Luke and Millie, but I couldn’t imagine it was that much.

“I’ll let you know,” Kendra said.

Pleased with my first marketing venture, I told them I’d bring them a sample the next time I came in.

That evening I wrote a list of the pros and cons of going to Pierre’s baking school. I was sure I would learn a lot. I wouldn’t have to hear about Freddy if I stayed in Indiana, but at this point I wasn’t sure it was worth being away from Ezra to do that. Working for Rosalee was a pro, but I probably wouldn’t learn that much from her. It was more likely that it would simply confirm what I did know.

I did enjoy being at the Home Place, but I wasn’t sure living here was going to help me decipher the rest of Sarah’s book, even though
Mammi
seemed to think so. On the other hand, it was only for three months. It wasn’t as though it was for an eternity. But when it came to a rocky relationship, which I considered Ezra’s and mine to be right now, three months was a really long time.

Being away from Ezra, of course, was the biggest con. Missing him was an ache that didn’t stop. Everything reminded me of him. The motorcycle that passed us on our way to the Home Place. Luke’s straw hat. The alfalfa growing in the field. Every sticky bun in the bakery. The blue sky. The rain. Rosalee’s milk cow mooing in the field.

That evening, because he hadn’t returned any of my texts, I wrote a letter to him. I was chatty at first, explaining why I moved in with Rosalee. I told him I’d met Millie and Eddie but not Tom or their parents.

Honestly, I felt a little timid about meeting Darryl Kline, but I didn’t say that.

Then I told him about the school in South Bend.
I’m not sure if I should go or not,
I wrote.
I’d like to come home as soon as I can. I’m so thankful you said you’d wait for me.

Soon I was finished, but as I folded the letter and tucked it into an
envelope, I thought suddenly of pretty Ruth Fry, Sally’s cousin who had come out from Ohio to work as a mother’s helper until Sally’s baby was born. How thrilled she must be to have Ezra back in town—and all to herself, no less.

Swallowing hard, I said a quick prayer that Ezra would remain a man of his word. He’d said he’d wait for me.

Please, Lord, let it be so.

T
hree days later it was my birthday, but I didn’t tell Rosalee. I didn’t expect a gift from home because Mom didn’t believe in birthday presents, but I thought maybe she would call. Or perhaps Ezra would.

After supper that night, Rosalee served one of the lemon meringue pies that hadn’t sold. For a moment I thought maybe someone had told her it was my birthday, but it was soon obvious no one had. It was just a day like any other day, except that after I’d done the dishes I asked Luke if I could go back to the dairy with him and see inside the house, where my grandmother and my mother and her sisters had once lived.

“Take my coat, but don’t be too long,” Rosalee said from where she sat at the kitchen table, working on her books. “It will be dark soon.”

Luke grabbed a flashlight from the shelf on the mud porch, and I picked up the wool coat on our way out. The evening was cold and growing colder. I hoped it wouldn’t freeze. We passed the garden and walked along the trail beside the barn, silently. When we reached the woods, Luke took the lead. The breeze stirred the pine trees towering above us.

“That’s the tallest one,” he said, pointing upward. “It’s a red pine, and taller than they usually get. It’s probably two hundred years old or so.”

The trunk was bare on the bottom half and then, about where the branches started, the bark had a reddish tinge to it. I squinted in the dim light. “Is that a nest up there?”

Luke nodded. “It belongs to a family of magpies. They can get pretty noisy.” He started up the path again at a faster pace.

The trail stopped at a stream and Luke jumped across. He extended his hand to me and I took it. He blushed and let go as soon as I was safely on the other side.

When we reached the edge of the woods, he pointed to a gate and we headed toward it. He opened it by pulling on a handle contraption on the side.

“Did you design that?” I asked.

He nodded.

As we passed through, I caught a glimpse of the farmhouse. It looked even smaller than it had on Sunday when I’d come here with the flat tire, but I decided I was comparing it to the Home Place, which was huge by anyone’s standards.

“Luke’s brought a girl home,” a manly voice called out.

I turned toward the barn. A tall, broad-shouldered young man was sauntering toward us. Eddie was skipping beside him.

“It’s Ella!” Eddie rushed toward me and in a minute he had taken my hand.

Luke started to say something, but before he could the man had his hat off and his hand outstretched.

“I’m Tom,” he said. “Luke’s big brother.”

He was a little taller than Luke and much broader. His hair was lighter than Luke’s and his eyes a softer gray. He smiled at me. He didn’t have the family dimples, but his eyes were bright and lively.