The Amish Bride (37 page)

I took a deep breath.

“Want to talk about it?”

I glanced sideways at him. “You want me to talk?”

“Sure. I’ll listen.”

“But you might have to talk back.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“I was only teasing,” I said, glancing at Eddie. He was sound asleep. Still I couldn’t imagine Luke wouldn’t tell me the same thing everyone else had.
Get over it. Let it be. Of course you should see Freddy. He’s making an effort to change for the better.

Even so, I started the story, saying my father had left when I was three, after my mother had adopted Zed, and how for the next fifteen years I hadn’t heard from him once. Luke had a sympathetic expression on his face.

“Before I came out here, he showed back up in Lancaster.”

“Is that why you wanted to come here?” Luke had pushed back his straw hat and his eyes were shining.

“Yes. That, and Ezra.”

“Is that the reason you didn’t go back home with him?”

I tilted my head. “No. I was determined to go back and avoid Freddy, but Mom didn’t want me to come home right away. Everyone wants Ezra and me to be apart. They all seem to think I’m not good for him, even though I’m willing to join the Amish church.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway,” I said. “Now he’s—”

“Your father?”

I nodded and cringed at the same time. “He’s been diagnosed with cancer. And I know that’s bad. Apparently, he really wants to see me.”

“Is he dying?”

“It seems that way…” Stomach cancer sounded pretty serious, though whether the time he had left was being measured in days or weeks or months, I wasn’t sure.

Luke met my eyes and took a deep breath. Finally he said, “I’m sorry, Ella. That sounds really hard.”

“It is,” I whispered. And then I started to cry. Just as Luke reached his hand out toward me, Eddie stirred. I wiped my eyes quickly, and as I did I saw Rosalee on the porch, bracing herself against the rail, staring at the three of us.

It was just Rosalee and me at supper that evening, and after I’d finished the dishes I went out to weed the herb garden. I crushed a bloom of lavender between my fingers and then brought it to my nose. I smelled soap and lotion and pound cake, all in one sniff. According to Sarah’s book, it could also be used for migraines, fainting, and dizziness, and as an antiseptic.

First I cultivated around the rosemary. The warm scent overpowered everything nearby. It added wonderful flavor to roasted potatoes, root vegetables, and chicken, but as a tincture, if too much was used, it could be deadly. Like so many things in life, it could be part of a recipe for success or for disaster.

I kept working until the sun started to disappear behind the woods. I stood stretching my back, shielding my eyes from the glare. I startled a little at the silhouette at the edge of the trees. It was Luke, watching me.

“Hello,” I called out.

He waved. “I need to borrow Rosalee’s fence post digger. Ours just broke.” He started toward the house to ask her, I was sure, even though he knew what her answer would be. I made my way to the toolshed to put away my hoe and cultivator. I found the tool Luke was after, pulled it out of the shed, and headed toward the house with it.

We met halfway, by the herb garden.

“This is such a pretty spot,” Luke said.

I nodded.

“And it always smells so fresh.”

I didn’t answer, hoping he would say more.

“God is good to make us such a beautiful world,
ya
?”

“
Ya
.” I responded.

“Your great-grandmother’s drawings do a fine job of capturing the beauty—but still, nothing can beat what God has done.”

“But don’t you think the drawings make us appreciate the beauty even more?”

He nodded. “Preacher Jacob talked about beauty a few months back. He said appreciating it is part of praising God. I was thinking about your father—and then my father. I think my
daed
has stopped seeing beauty. All he sees is how sick
Mamm
is and how the place is falling apart and how bad our finances are. He’s turned everything into rules. It seems he thinks if we just figure out how to do things the ‘right’ way our troubles will stop.” He paused, and then without looking at me he said, “That got me thinking about your father. Even if you don’t want to see him, have you been able to forgive him?”

I bristled. I’d gone round and round on the forgiveness thing. I’d think I’d forgiven and then the same old feelings would come back.

“I know, I know,” I said, “I’m supposed to forgive so God will forgive me. I keep trying.”

“I think forgiving also frees us,” he said, as if he hadn’t heard me. “And the other person.”

“Even if they never ask for our forgiveness?”

“In a way I don’t understand,
ya
,” he said. “Although I know forgiveness and reconciliation are two different things.” He gave me a sympathetic look and said, “I heard once that to truly forgive means you no longer resent the person.”

I took another step away. That was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever heard. How could I not resent Freddy Bayer for what he’d done to me? Wasn’t it enough that I’d tried to forgive him? I should have known Luke wouldn’t understand.

F
or the next several classes, Pierre taught lessons on fondant, ganache, frosting, icing, and marzipan. Then he let us start experimenting. I couldn’t help but smile. Even without having his heart in it, he was showing us what we needed to know.

As I was working away, rolling fondant to put over the top of the brown-butter banana cake I had made, he stopped at my table.

“Why the fondant?” he asked. “How about a butter cream to go with that flavor?”

“I like fondant,” I answered.

“Because it is pretty?”

I nodded.

“How about making something beautiful instead of pretty? Beauty. That is what you should strive for.”

I kept rolling my fondant. Later, when I was sculpting eyes in the bird I’d made out of marzipan, he stopped again. “You should stick with something Plain,” he said.

“This is,” I answered. “I got the idea from my Amish great-grandmother.”

“Well, then…” He took a closer look. “I will withhold judgment until you are finished.”

I ended up squishing it. The eyes were all wrong. I left, discouraged.

That evening when I entered the kitchen at the Home Place, Rosalee was sitting at the table working on her books. She rubbed her eyes as she asked me how I was.

“Do you really want to know?” I sank down onto the chair across from her.

“Of course,” she answered.

I told her about Pierre.

She raised her eyebrows. “You’ll be done soon. Learn everything you can from him. He has a very successful business. No matter what, he has a lot to teach you.”

I knew he did, but I didn’t point out I’d learned just as much from her. I didn’t want it to sound as if I didn’t appreciate
Mammi
’s investment.

“He’s just so sarcastic.”

“Maybe that’s his way.” She picked up her pencil again.

I asked how things looked. “If that’s any of my business,” I quickly added. That was a part of running a bakery that I had no experience with, but I wasn’t anticipating it would be too hard.

Rosalee peered at me. “Everyone says supporting a family costs way more than they anticipate, even for the Amish. That’s how running this bakery is. I’ll come up with a budget and then the price of sugar goes up. And the price of electricity. And the price of a new roof on the building.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “But Luke thinks he can do the roofing for me. That will save some.” She picked up her pencil. “There are times when I wonder how much longer I can keep going.”

“Are you serious?”

“I’m just thinking out loud.” She yawned. “I’m tired. And I’m getting old.”

“You’re not old,” I said, even though I knew she was.

“I started this business hoping I could help out Luke and Millie. Maybe earn enough money to pay them wages…” Her eyes drifted toward the back door as if she were mentally headed to the bakery. She shook her head quickly and met my gaze again. “At least your drumming up business in town has helped. That’s kept us in the black, barely.”

That was the best news I’d heard in weeks.

“You have a letter,” she said, looking back down at the books. “I put it on your dresser.”

I hurried down the hall, hoping it would be from Ezra. It wasn’t. It was from Freddy Bayer. My whole body grew cold as I sank down onto the bed. If there had been a woodstove in the house that was lit, I would have burned it without reading it, I was sure. But there wasn’t, so I opened the envelope.

Dear Ella,

First, I want you to know how proud I am of you. Your mother speaks so highly of you, as does Zed. We all hoped you would return to Lancaster County, but the fact you stayed in Indiana and chose to go to baking school shows your strength and determination. You’ve had a good example of this in your mother, plus she has raised you right, I know. For that I am very grateful.

Second, I was disappointed not to be able to meet you, as you probably know. But I don’t blame you for not wanting to see me. I was horrible to your mother, you, and Zed. I deeply regret what I did. Please forgive me, in time, if you can.

I am an alcoholic and have been in recovery for the last three years. One of the things I’ve been learning is to express my feelings. As a young man, I too was deeply betrayed by my father, but I was taught to ignore my pain and carry on. Instead I ended up committing the same sins he did. My prayer for you and Zed is that you will be able to express your pain and eventually heal. My hope is that the destructive cycle in our family will end.

When I joined the Mennonite church with your mother, I thought I knew what it meant to be a Christian—but I didn’t. While in recovery, I’ve learned what it means to follow Jesus, to try to trust Him one day at a time. That’s all I can do.

So I trust Him with you.

Love,

Dad

I crumpled the letter in my hand and curled onto the bed. The thickening in the back of my throat surprised me. I wasn’t just angry—I was also really, really sad. The tears flowed like a flash flood. I pulled my knees to my chest and tightened my fist around the letter. My stoic mother had
never told me emotions were bad, but she’d never encouraged them, either. Sobs shook me. I hadn’t cried in years, and never like this.

A knock came on my door, followed by Rosalee’s tentative voice. “Ella, are you all right?”

“
Ya
,” I answered, trying hard to keep my voice even.

She hesitated and then said, this time a little louder, “Come get me if you need me.”

“
Danke
,” I answered. “I will.”

I stayed that way until the room began to darken and then smoothed the letter out as best I could and read it again. No longer sad, I stopped on the words “our family.” And then again on “Dad.” How dare he think he could weasel his way back in and then refer to himself in such a familiar way? Mom and Zed were obviously gullible enough to buy into his scheme, but I could see how he was trying to manipulate me, saying Mom was proud of me. Not even mentioning his cancer. Writing about what he’d learned in recovery. He was trying to get me to go home without begging me to. It was probably some kind of reverse psychology. He hoped to have my forgiveness to make himself feel better.

I took a deep breath, relieved to feel only the old familiar anger. It felt so much better than the pain.

I waited until Rosalee was in bed, and then I tiptoed into the living room, taking a match from the mantle and lighting the letter and envelope on fire. I held it until the heat of the flames licked at my fingers before dropping it to the floor of the fireplace and watched it turn from paper to fire and finally to ashes.

I was in a funk all the next day as I waited on the customers at the front counter of Plain Treats. After we all ate leftover stew from the night before for our noon meal, Luke asked if I could help him load hay into the hayloft. Most of the hay was rolled into huge rounds and left in the fields, but he had a portion put in seventy-pound bales that were kept in the barn. As we walked, he asked me what was bothering me.