Chapter 16
“What
is
all that racket and poundin’ over there?” Rachel, along with Rhoda, Naomi, and her mother, gazed out the door toward the smithy Wednesday morning as though they hoped to see through its sturdy walls to the carpentry work going on there before the café opened. “Thought Micah was only workin’ after hours—”
“He’s got a new project cookin’. Somethin’ he got the idea for while he was at Tiffany’s,” Miriam remarked. “And I promised him we’d
not
be goin’ over there to nose around. That goes for
all
of us!”
Naomi shook her head good-naturedly as she dumped a steaming pot of spiral pasta into the colander. “He was all hush-hush about it yesterday. Top-secret idea, he said—and even his brothers don’t know enough about it to let on. Haven’t seen Micah this excited over a job in a
gut
long while.”
“Guessin’ by the boxes they tore down and threw in back, he must’ve carted new sinks and a shower stall and who knows what-all up there after we left yesterday.” Rhoda gently pressed labels on the fresh pies she’d wrapped for the front counter, her face alight with the guessing game they played. “Even saw a couple
big
cartons, flat, like for mattresses. Mighty excitin’, to think of a whole new home up there. Like Christmas in July.”
A rapid-fire series of high-pitched whines progressed across the entire smithy wall ... screws being driven by a battery-powered screwdriver. Rachel raised her eyebrows at the noise; at the same time she was stirring her skillet of sizzling sausage. As she cut the larger clumps with the edge of her spatula, she wondered exactly how his visit with Tiffany had sparked such a burst of building. But hadn’t Micah asked her to have patience and faith?
Patience and faith,
she repeated to herself.
If I had more of those, life might be ever so much easier ...
Not that she felt any more confident, knowing where Micah had gotten his inspiration for the one-man work frolic going on next door. How could spending last Saturday night with her black-sheep sister give him such fine ideas that he was working in the smithy loft instead of with his brothers on their shop orders? Rachel bit her lip against her rising doubts. As she stirred the eggs, milk, and seasonings for the morning’s breakfast pies, she planned her questions for when Micah came over to eat. Surely he’d tell
her
what he was building up there!
“Here’s your glass pans, all sprayed and ready, missy! If you’ll get your head outta the clouds, I’ll put those pies in the oven when they’re ready,” Naomi teased.
Rachel realized then that everyone else in the kitchen was watching her. Had she done something absentminded? Or given away her jealous thoughts about Tiffany? “Won’t be but a minute!” she blurted. “Have we got enough of the Cheddar Jack, Rhoda? Tastes better on this spicy sausage than plain Cheddar, I’m thinkin’.”
“Either one’s
gut
, but we’ll be needin’ more, come time to make the Italian green bean casserole for lunch.” Her sister joined her at the center island to top each of the pies with the cheese after Rachel had poured batter over the sausage. These pies made their own luscious topping and crust as they baked, and there was never enough to fill all the orders, no matter how many they made!
Is there a message here, about My patience and grace never runnin’ out—no matter how many times you need it? Love is an ever-flowin’ stream, you know.
Rachel stopped pouring batter to consider what this thought might mean. It wasn’t a common, everyday thing to think such messages might come to her direct from God: Why would He be contacting
her
? Especially while she was making and serving breakfast, as she did every morning?
But if God
was
tapping her on the shoulder, maybe she should pay attention! Maybe the bishop was coming back to challenge Mamma—or propose to her. Or maybe Tiffany would make her next move. Or—
“You all right, Sis?” Rhoda waved her hand up and down, grinning. “For a minute there, ya looked a little
ferhoodled
.”
Rachel blinked. Aromas of cooked sausage and Mamma’s zucchini cornbread reminded her she was back in the café’s kitchen ... that she’d never left, even if her thoughts had taken her away. She shrugged and finished scraping the batter from the bowl. “We all get confused that way now and again, ain’t so? Just hopin’ there’s a slice of this pie left come time for my break.”
So maybe my faith and patience won’t run out when I really need them.
The breakfast shift was in full swing, most of the tables full, when Rachel realized no one had called to get more cheese for those Italian green bean casseroles on the lunch menu. As she headed for the phone shanty out back, she caught Naomi’s eye. “Anythin’ ya need from Zook’s besides that shredded cheese?” she asked above the chatter in the dining room.
“
Jah
, have them send a couple bags of Italian seasoning and—”
The phone rang and Rachel rushed out to the little white building. Chuckling at herself, she answered on the third ring. “Sweet Seasons Café, this is—”
“Miriam, it’s Lydia! Ya won’t believe it, but I think your Rebecca’s here in the store!” the grocer’s wife said in a low, insistent voice. “She got black hair stickin’ up like little pitchforks? And black fingernails, like she’s a witch, ain’t so?”
Rachel blinked. While Lydia Zook’s description was accurate, it was anything but flattering. Nor would it make Mamma feel any better about the daughter who’d already raised the bishop’s eyebrows. “
Jah
, that’s our Rebecca. Goes by Tiffany now,” she replied, somehow keeping her voice composed.
Why would Tiffany be in town? And shopping for groceries this early? Even as her heart pounded faster with suspicions and doubts, Rachel felt the urge to set Mamma’s friend on the higher road as far as spreading stories about this surprise visit from her ... her own sister. There might come a time when it was important for the Lantz women to stick together—and hadn’t
she
always been the one to speak up?
“Tiffany comes from the same stock as Rhoda and me, so I’m thinkin’ she’s no real threat to ya,” Rachel continued in a lighter tone. “The Lantz blood’s thicker than that flood water that carried her off, too, so we’re tryin’ not to judge that book by her cover.”
“Oh, Rachel, it’s you! Well,
jah
, I wasn’t meanin’ to—”
Had she just defended the English girl who’d thrown her life into more than one tailspin lately? Did that explain the sense of calm she felt as she listened to Lydia’s apologetic chatter?
Rachel turned to hide a smile from anybody who might be following this conversation, peering in from the kitchen or the quilt shop, mere steps away through both of the back doors. Not five minutes ago, Micah had come down from the loft for his breakfast. As he joked with Nate and Bram Kanagy, his smile had made something bubble up inside her. Why not surprise everyone by
daring
this situation to work out? Hadn’t Micah already taken such a risk by spending time with Tiffany?
“Lydia, I was just gonna call ya for some shredded cheese—plain Cheddar, and some Cojack. Five pounds each. Need a couple bags of your Italian seasoning, too,” Rachel said when Mrs. Zook had paused. “I’m thinkin’ Rebecca’s comin’ here anyway, so why not ask her to bring our order? Mamma’ll be real pleased to see her.”
Lydia gasped. “Well, I reckon I could ... ya don’t s’pose she’ll leave that cheese in her car too long on this hot mornin’ and—”
“No need to be afraid of her, Lydia. Underneath the dye and ghouly makeup, Tiffany’s ... well, she’s a
lot
like Rhoda and me,” Rachel reminded her. “But if she says no, send Jonah with it. Tell him Mamma made rhubarb pie today—and his favorite rhubarb crumb cake, too.”
“
Ach
, I plumb forgot! We sold the last of your
mamm
’s pies yesterday! Got some fresh ones ya can spare?”
Rachel closed her eyes, recalling what they’d placed inside the glass case this morning, and what they’d already sold. “Couple of gooseberry and a couple of peach be all right? I don’t want to run us any shorter than that till Mamma makes more.”
“
Jah
, that’ll be—oh ... now where’d that girl get off to?”
Rachel heard voices in the background at Zook’s store, and then the whine of Henry’s saw as he cut some meat. She already sensed what Lydia was about to say, and her heartbeat sped up a notch.
“Gonna have to send the boy, I s’pose. Seems, uh, your Tiffany’s up and left already.” Mrs. Zook sounded downright relieved.
“That’s fine, then. Your pies’ll be waitin’.”
“
Jah
. Tell your
mamm
hullo.”
As Rachel hung up, she smiled at the scene that had just played out ... at the way her sister had intimidated the storekeeper’s wife so badly, Lydia had stalled to keep from talking to her. Tiffany hadn’t done anything but show up, yet Lydia Zook was all in a dither—
Kinda like you, ain’t so? Tiffany just showed up, and it’s been
you
gettin’ all twisted around like a pretzel.
Smiling at this revelation, Rachel returned to the café and circulated at her tables, picking up dirty plates and refilling coffee cups. Now that she realized how her sister affected Plain men and women—in different ways, but with the same effortless power—it might be fun to watch her come into the café this morning. Could get mighty interesting, too, considering how Hiram Knepp and Gabe Glick, their other preacher, were coming down the road in the bishop’s buggy.
And sure enough, from the other direction, here came a bright red car. It slowed as it approached, but then passed on by ... turned in at the next lane, and then headed back toward the Sweet Seasons again.
Rachel came away from the window and wrote out three tickets, resisting the urge to warn everyone in the kitchen about Tiffany’s approach. It just seemed right to let things play out, without trying to direct or control this situation—and without getting upset about it.
Chapter 17
“Mornin’ to ya, Rachel.” Gabe Glick looked a hundred if he was a day, so stooped his pale beard came to the center of his chest. He squinted through his rimless glasses. “Me and the bishop’ll be wantin’ a table in back. Think Tom’s gonna join us.”
Rachel gently took his elbow. “Kinda tight between these tables,” she said up close to his ear. “We’ve got a place in the back corner, right next to the buffet table.”
“
Jah
,
des gut
. Noisy crowd today, ain’t so?”
As she escorted the old preacher past the north window, she glanced outside: Tiffany was slamming her car door and looking toward the café. Not belligerent, exactly, but even in that bright pink shirt, her black hair, skintight jeans, and heavy mascara announced her as a challenge.
Rachel nipped her lip and pulled out a chair for Gabe. Why had she sensed this was coming? Would it be a showdown—a Willow Ridge version of Armageddon? The forces of good fending off evil? That seemed a little melodramatic, maybe, but it was for sure and for certain things could get mighty hot in a hurry. She felt surprisingly calm, almost eager to watch, as though she’d set this ball to rolling and been put in this time and place to witness an event that would set the course for her family—maybe even Mamma’s café—by the time the breakfast rush was over.
“Good morning, Rachel.” Hiram came in behind them, wiped his freshly washed hands on his napkin, and then focused on the whiteboard’s menu for the day. “Bring us three plates of that sausage pie special and a pot of fresh coffee.”
“Comin’ right up. Got cantaloupe and watermelon on the buffet,
gut
and sweet, plus Mamma’s special cornbread, so help yourselves.” Rachel met his gaze and then made her way between the chattering ladies at the next tables to the coffeemaker. Nothing in Bishop Knepp’s dark eyes suggested any more confrontation than usual ... and it wasn’t all that odd for these three elders to eat together.
Yet when the door opened again, Rachel stood straighter, listening rather than turning to watch people’s reactions. “Need three orders of the sausage pie,” she called into the kitchen as she filled a carafe for the brethren. “Gettin’ low on cornbread, too.”
“
Jah
, I got that comin’,” Rhoda replied as she lifted a big basket of the muffins. She came quickly from the kitchen and then stopped, wide-eyed. “Oh. Looks like cornbread’s not all we got comin’, Sister.”
Tiffany Oliveri stood by the cash register, gripping the big black purse slung over her shoulder, surveying the crowd. Preacher Tom stepped inside and stopped behind her. He spotted Hiram and Gabe in the back, yet was too polite—or too startled—to slip around the spike-haired young woman who stood out in this conservative morning crowd.
As one, Rachel and Rhoda went toward them.
“Tiffany, it’s
gut
to see ya!” Rhoda said, extending her steaming basket. “How about one of Mamma’s corn muffins while we find you a spot?”
“Your table’s waitin’, Preacher,” Rachel said from behind her. “I was just takin’ your coffee over there—but first I’d like ya to meet our sister, Tiffany. The one who found us last week! And Tiffany, this is Tom Hostetler. Runs a dairy farm when he’s not conductin’ services of a Sunday.”
Neither of them looked certain of what to say, but good manners carried the moment. Tom nodded, smiling as he looked from one face ... to another ... to the third. “It’s
gut
to meet you, young lady. Quite a story, about your washin’ away all those years ago and now comin’ back. And
jah
, it’s a sure thing you three perty girls are sisters.”
When Tiffany smiled, she looked altogether different—even with those dangly pewter earrings and three heavy chain necklaces. “Yeah, it was a big surprise to all of us. Nice to meet you, Tom.”
He seemed relieved to follow Rachel into the crowd of familiar folks, several of them his Plain neighbors. Then he waved to his two companions. “I’ll take this coffee on back. You’ve got other folks to see to.”
“Thanks ever so much for understandin’. I’ll be right there with your plates.” Rachel exhaled: first encounter and all was well.
As she looked at Tiffany, still near the cash register with Rhoda, Rachel recognized
hesitation
... even fear, beneath all that metal and makeup. Maybe, like the Plains Indians long ago, her English sister wore so much paint to appear fierce and invincible. Yet in this roomful of strangers—where most folks knew who she was—the girl in black didn’t seem so bold or brazen.
What if it were me standin’ there, not knowin’ a soul?
Rachel wasn’t sure where this idea came from, but it seemed this day was made for surprises. She strode through the crowd in Tom’s wake, to pluck the fourth chair from the men’s table. “Be right back with your food,” she chirped, and then she carried the chair over to where Micah sat with his friends.
“Best be on your
gut
behavior, fellas,” she warned as she motioned to Tiffany. “Not every day ya get to sit with a guest like this one.”
Nate, Bram, and the two other Brennemans seemed utterly
ferhoodled
when the girl in black took the chair on the end, next to Micah. Micah, however, grinned broadly—first at Tiffany and then at Rachel. Was the special glimmer in his green eyes for her ... or for her unconventional sister?
“Tiffany! This is Bram and Nate Kanagy,” he said as each of them nodded mutely, “and the two blond jokers across the table are my brothers, Seth and Aaron. What brings ya to Willow Ridge so bright and early this mornin’?”
Before Tiffany could answer, Micah’s arm shot out to catch Rachel around the waist. “Time for your break, so’s you can join us, ain’t so, Rache? I’m thinkin’ since Nate’s finished eatin’, he could spell ya for a bit—”
“
Gut
way to get all your dishes broke!” their friend protested.
“
Jah
, and the bishop might not like it so well if his breakfast landed in his lap, either.” Rachel grinned. Micah’s arm was still around her, and he showed no sign of moving it. The big smile on her face surprised her, yet it felt like it belonged there as she focused on Tiffany. “If ya can stay till after this early rush, though, I’ll be free for a bit. Gotta go now—but I’ll tell Mamma you’re here.”
Second encounter and still no lightnin’ strikes.
Rachel strode quickly into the kitchen to place the three waiting plates of sausage pie on a tray. Rhoda was immediately beside her to garnish the steaming wedges with twisted slices of fresh orange.
“Did ya see the way Seth and Aaron looked ready to—well, I couldn’t tell if they were ready to run on outta here, or to just gawk all mornin’,” her look-alike teased. “That was the
last
place I figured you’d set her, Sis!”
Rachel shrugged. She didn’t feel like getting into a deep discussion about her change of heart—not when the bishop was waiting for his breakfast. “Keeps her in Plain sight, ain’t so?” she quipped. She looked over to where their mother was drizzling white icing over the cherry-pie bars for the noon menu. “Tiffany’s here, Mamma. Preacher Tom’s met her just now, and I’m thinkin’ it won’t be long till the bishop looks her over, too. I set her at Micah’s table so she’d have somebody to talk to.”
Was that amazement on her mother’s face? Mamma set aside her pastry bag to wipe her sugary hands and smooth her kapp. “She say why she’s here? This is—well, a nice surprise all around!”
“
Jah
, I told her you’d think so.” Rachel hefted the tray to her shoulder. “Let’s hope the brethren see it that way, too. This sausage pie oughtta keep them busy for a while, anyway—
if
you’d like to see her, that is.”
“So how ya been, Tiffany?” Micah’s smile broadened as he watched his four tablemates fetch their straw hats, like the day’s work was suddenly calling their names. “Mighty
gut
to see ya. Didn’t figure you’d be back.”
“Yeah, well—things change.”
He was no expert on women, but Tiffany’s shrug told him more than what she didn’t say: some mighty
important
things had changed. She fumbled with her muffin wrapper, focusing on it as though she’d find the right words written there. Micah brushed crumbs from the plate his toast had come on and put it in front of her. “Here—that cornbread’s mighty tasty with honey on it. Rachel’s aunt—
your
aunt—Leah supplies it from her own hives.”
Tiffany’s eyes widened ... eyes so expressive, like her sisters’. For a moment an awkward silence stretched between them—or had the café gone quiet? Micah didn’t look around. Whatever this girl had on her mind—whatever had brought her here—was more important than the opinions of the folks who might be gawking at them.
“I moved out of that apartment. Thought about stuff you’d said—”
Micah agonized while she lifted a chunk of honey-drenched muffin to her lips. When she closed her eyes over it, those long black lashes did something fluttery to his insides. Or was it that little moan, when she chewed and swallowed like she’d never eaten anything so heavenly? He cleared his throat. “So—if you’re not livin’ with your girlfriend—”
“
Former
girlfriend. You know the guy who brought the pizza? Hayden, her live-in?”
Micah nodded, his insides tightening as he thought of all the possible ways this revelation might go. She was easing another bite of that crumbly cornbread into her mouth with fingers that trembled.
“Well, when he got home that Saturday night, he freaked. Started throwing things at me because you were wearing his—”
“Rebecca—I mean, it’s Tiffany now! It’s so
gut
to see ya again!” Miriam Lantz bustled around the table and landed in the chair on Tiffany’s other side, her kapp strings aflutter around a face flushed with pleasure. “And don’t ya look perty in pink? I—I miss seein’ you girls in that color, now that you’re all grown up.”
While Miriam made an excellent point—the deep rose of Tiffany’s top gave her pale face a soft, healthy glow—Micah sighed inside. This mother had the right, and every reason, to take a rare chance for conversation, no matter how much he needed to hear the rest of this girl’s story.
“Good to see you, too. Dad says hi.”
Miriam’s eyes shone like hot coffee. “So how’s he doin’ now? And what were ya sayin’ about movin’ out? Are ya home again, I hope?”
Micah blinked. Had mother’s intuition kicked in just from the few words Miriam had overheard before she sat down?
Tiffany smiled, looking shy despite the dramatic black lines accentuating her eyes. “I was telling Micah that the guy—well, let’s just say I realized I could do better than hanging with those two. They fight all the time, about really stupid stuff, and I’m tired of being in the middle of it.”
“
Gut
for you! And ya know, child of mine, ya have a place to stay here if ya want.” Miriam had lowered her voice and she leaned closer to the young woman beside her. “Ain’t easy dealin’ with a man who’s lost his wife, and ya must have terrible-mixed feelin’s about the whole situation, I’d think. Don’t ya go livin’ on the streets, gettin’ yourself into places ya can’t get out of. Promise me?”
It was almost more than Micah could listen to, this intense exchange. Yet he admired Miriam for cutting right to the bone.
Tiffany nodded as she searched Miriam’s face ... the flawless honesty in her sparkling eyes, framed by brown hair pulled tight beneath her kapp. Their smiles came out like the sun after a summer shower. “I came to tell Micah—and you—that I’ve gone back home, because it’s Micah who made me see it as the better option. He was so ... patient, so
decent
. Even when I was acting snotty and pretending not to listen.”
Miriam flashed a smile at the burly blond beside her. “
Jah
, we kinda like Micah around here. When he says he’ll do somethin’, ya can believe it.”
“I don’t know any other guys like that.” Tiffany paused, as though this statement summarized the thoughts she’d tried to pull together. “Those slackers in the pool hall, they—they made fun of his hat and suspenders, and—well, not a one of them cares what happens to me. They never said
boo
about Mom dying, or—well, they’re only after one thing.” She winced and looked away. “Sorry. That sounds really sleazy.”
“You’re here now, ain’t so?” Miriam reached for her daughter’s hands, blinking rapidly. “I’m ever so happy to see ya, and to hear you’re givin’ your
dat
another chance, too. Let me get ya some of that nice sausage pie—”
“Could I have bacon and a couple eggs, over easy? And toast with jelly? This cornbread’s awesome, too, and—” She looked down at her empty plate and blinked. “Guess I’m hungrier than I thought.”
“We got just the cure for that, honey-bug. Sit tight.” Miriam got up, grinning through her tears. “If Micah’s gotta leave, I know a couple girls who’re due for their break, now that the crowd’s thinnin’ out.”