The Way to a Man's Heart (The Miller Family 3) (24 page)

He could have lied to her but he hadn’t.
She
was the only reason he’d come today. He’d tried paying attention to the sermons and to the Scripture, but his heart had hardened to the words. Sorrow had put up a wall around him—one that might be able to allow Leah Miller in, but was intended to keep God out.

Although the tourist business was usually thin on Tuesdays, the day turned out anything but quiet for April. This was Leah’s day to stay home baking the pies, cakes, muffins, and cookies for the diner for the coming week. She also baked for her family and helped her mother with the ironing. That meant that April waited on tables, cooked, and cleaned up afterward alone. Even with a light crowd, she barely had a chance to draw a deep breath, let alone sit down. She prepared a lunch special of barbecue beef over mashed potatoes or served in a sandwich. The cold salad plate had been no-fuss beets and cucumbers, and the vegetable soup sold out early. Fortunately, only a few customers selected menu items that needed to be cooked to order.

April rang up the bill for a group of ladies on their way to a quilting seminar and exhaled a weary sigh of satisfaction. She would close up the restaurant, pick up her kids from the babysitter, and take them swimming while the afternoon remained hot. Then she heard the bell over the front door jangle as she was turning down the air-conditioning and switching off lights. “We’re closed,” she hollered through the kitchen door. She listened but heard no follow-up jingling to signal that the customer had left.

“I don’t know why folks can’t read the sign on the door or check out the posted hours,” she muttered to herself.

Slipping her apron over her head, she marched out to see what the tardy customer wanted. Except it wasn’t a customer at all. Whip Jenkins sat at the gleaming chrome and Formica counter eating the last of the blackberry pie straight from the tin. He hadn’t bothered with a plate and must have helped himself at the silverware drawer. April swallowed down her irritation with his rudeness as she approached her landlord.

“Why, Mr. Jenkins,” she said. “You’ve just saved me a postage stamp.” She forced a brittle smile. “I have your rent check in my purse.”

“Is that right?” He glanced up and then dug into the second slice as though it were a county fair eating contest. When he finished off the pan with a smack of his lips, he focused his deep-set eyes on her. “And I trust you’re talking about a two-month rent check?” He reached for a napkin, swiped at his mouth, and threw the wadded paper down on the counter.

“Yes, sir, this month’s rent and last. Thank you for being patient.” She tried the phony smile for a second time.

“The truth is, Mrs. Lambright, I’m not really a patient man. For some reason I’m being more so with you than my other deadbeat renters.” He stared with eyes colder than spring water in January.

“I’m not a deadbeat, Mr. Jenkins. At least I don’t mean to be. I’ll pay you every dime of what I owe. It’s tough to…manage all the expenses during the first year of business. There’s a lot of record-keeping to get used to.”

“That’s just what I’m talking about. I heard some disturbing rumors around town. Sounds like you owe quite a few people money. I can’t be too lenient with you or you’ll pay everybody else first and leave me until last.” He let his gaze scan over her in a most unpleasant manner. “You’re a nice enough lady, but I don’t want to get stuck holding the bag. I’ve got a mortgage on this place and property taxes. Heck, you’re paid up now—at least you will be when you hand over that check you’ve been talking about—but we’re at the
end of
June. July rent is due by the tenth of the month. And I want it by then or I’ll have to start advertising for a new tenant. I know you’re new at this, but times are tough. I gotta look out for myself.” He straightened up on the stool. “What’ll your customers think if they read in the newspaper that this place is looking for a new renter? Rats will desert a sinking ship every time.” He rubbed the stubble on his jaw.

April felt her spine stiffen while some rather mean-spirited thoughts flitted through her mind, but she shook them off. “We have a one-year lease,” she said, struggling to keep her tone even.

“And that agreement is based on you keeping up your end of the bargain!”

“I’ve put a lot of time and my own money in remodeling this place. It was a dump when you bought it.”

“All the more reason for you to pay the rent on time.”

Neither person spoke for several moments; then he scraped his fork around the edge of the pie tin. “You know…this pie is really good. I hope you do make a go of this restaurant. I’ve got nothing against you, but I’m a businessman, pure and simple.”

April released her pent-up breath slowly, trying to expel anger at the same time. She refused to let him get under her skin on such a fine summer day. Unexpectedly, her eyes filled with tears—an unwarranted response for a
businesswoman.
She picked up the empty pan and his fork and busied herself rewiping the counter.

But he’d seen her display of weakness and turned away. “I noticed on the chalkboard that your lunch special was barbeque beef. I love that stuff on rye bread with sweet pickles. You got any left?” he asked.

April tossed the dishrag into the sink. “There’s a quart container; that’s all.” She narrowed her gaze on him. The tears were gone.

“Well, if you give me that quart of beef and those last two pies in the spinner rack, I’ll let you have until the fifteenth of the month, but no longer. After that, I’ll be placing that newspaper ad if I don’t have your check.”

One or two un-Christian responses came to mind, but she swallowed them down like stomach acid. She nodded, pulled the pies from the metal carousel, and placed them in boxes. Then she strode into the kitchen to get his rent check and the container of beef from the refrigerator.

The sooner this repugnant man was on his way, the better.

Then April would drive to the babysitter for her children, praying the entire way to be delivered from the mess she was in.

I
t didn’t take Jonah long to ask Leah out once she agreed to get to know him a little better. She had told him yes on a Sunday and by Tuesday she found a note in her mailbox. He asked her to spend the Fourth of July with him in Millersburg the following Monday. If she were willing, his Mennonite cousin and wife would pick them both up and bring them home after fireworks. Leah began a note of reply within minutes of finding the letter, but then she remembered she should first check with her parents. She assumed there would be no objection, but if the quantity of
mamm’s
questions were any indication, Leah had plenty to worry about.

“An Independence Day celebration?” asked Julia while peeling cucumbers at the sink. “You know Plain folk don’t participate in political doings.”

“Jah,”
Leah agreed, “but this will be more like a big birthday party for our country with a parade, pie-eating and watermelon seed-spitting contests, good eats, and fireworks at dusk.”

Julia looked at her incredulously. “Seeing who can spit a seed the farthest—this is something that interests you?” she asked.

“Sure, plus there will be a stroller parade of
bopplin,”
she answered with a cheery smile. Spitting seeds sounded marginally interesting only if Jonah were by her side.

“Who are these cousins of the Bylers? I don’t know them.”

“They are a much older couple from Wilmot—at least thirty years old. Their two little girls will be coming too.” Leah sliced the peeled cucumbers with amazing speed and precision and then swept the pile into a bowl.

“Much older?” Julia asked, peering at Leah over the top of her glasses. “That would make your
daed
and me ancient, no?”

Leah realized her error. “I didn’t mean it like that, only that his cousins are reliable folk.”

Julia picked up some beets to scrub and trim. “There will be nothing but fair-type food in Millersburg—the same stuff that gave you a bellyache in Cleveland.” She wielded the brush against the vegetables as best she could.

Leah gently pulled the brush and beets away to clean. “I’ll pick and choose my snacks more carefully this time. I won’t mix such bizarre things.” She offered her most endearing smile.

“Where did you learn that cat-in-the-cream grin?” Julia asked. “From Emma?”

The exaggerated smile vanished. “Emma didn’t teach me to smile. I’ve known how to do that since I was little.” She attacked a particularly muddy beet with gusto.

“Monday is wash day. You surely don’t think I can manage by myself, do you?”

“No,
mamm.
They won’t pick me up until after one o’clock. I can get three loads of clothes washed and on the line by then. Then I’ll finish up the rest the next day while I’m baking for the diner.”

“Is this Jonah the boy you were talking to after preaching? Amos Burkholder’s grandson?”

“Jah,
he’s the one.”

“And he ain’t one of those boys making a fuss over you at the restaurant?” Her tone implied what her response might be if Jonah were one of them.

“No. I met him and his
mamm
when April and I were buying cheese at their farm.”

“Well, you may go if you don’t attend any political rallies or go anywhere near the beer tent, and if you come right home after the fireworks.” She leveled Leah a stern look. “And I hope you remembered what your
daed
said about a gal’s reputation.”

Leah had been expecting the response to be: “I’ll talk to your father about this and let you know.” So when Julia consented, Leah blurted, “Do you mean I can go?”

“What’s the matter? Don’t you still want to?” Mother and daughter locked gazes and then both burst out laughing.

“Jah,
after all that convincing, I just hope I have a good time.”

“That’s up to you. Now, please put up a pot of water to boil. I stewed a chicken this afternoon, and buttered noodles will go nicely with it.”

The old adage “A watched clock never moves” applies to wall calendars too. Leah thought Monday would never arrive. Even though the amount of laundry was larger than usual, she did it with a smile. If nothing else, she planned to get to know Jonah well enough that she wouldn’t hyperventilate each time he spoke. After all, he was delivering special cheeses to the diner on a regular basis since they had added a fruit-and-cheese plate to their menu.

Leah was waiting on the porch steps rubbing lotion on her hands when Jonah’s cousins picked her up at one o’clock. After introductions she sat up front next to Mrs. Woodhall while Jonah climbed into the back with the
kinner.
Conversation proved easy because their nine-year-old daughter was quite a chatterbox. She talked about the jugglers, face-painters, and magicians who would be at the celebration—the latter two subsequently forbade by her parents.

Leah glanced over her shoulder at the little girl but then stopped when she’d felt Jonah’s eyes on her like a spotlight beam. Mrs. Woodhall filled the remaining time with questions about the diner. She had heard of Leah’s Home Cooking but hadn’t yet made the trip to Winesburg. The young wife was amazed that two women could handle ordering, cooking, cleaning, and keeping up accounts by themselves without male intervention.