Breath of Spring Page 8

  Since when do Plain fellas wear Lee jeans? Annie Mae wondered when she noticed the label.

  “Fine,” her dat spat as he dug into his wallet. “Here’s the fifty dollars—”

  “Your ticket’s for a hundred,” Officer McClatchey replied as he continued writing on his pad. “Had you not given me so much backlash, we could’ve settled this matter for less, but—”

  “A hundred dollars? That’s highway robbery!” her father blurted. “You have no right to—”

  “Ah, but I do—and I could make it two hundred. Or we could go to the station, where you’d have the right to call your attorney and then wait for him in a jail cell.” The officer stood firm, returning her father’s angry sneer with an unruffled expression. “I’m sorry all these other folks have had to witness this situation as their breakfasts get cold, sir. But I’m fully aware of the wheeling and dealing you and Conrad Hammond have engaged in since I assisted with your sons’ sleighing accident. Don’t think you can bribe me to look away and pretend none of these things ever happened.”

  The Sweet Seasons rang with silence as everyone in the dining room watched the two men with a sense of fascinated expectation on their faces. Muttering, with anger stiffening his every move, her father reached into his wallet again and then threw some money on the table.

  “I’m leaving—but I’m not finished with any of you,” he said as he glared at Miriam, Bishop Tom, Adam—and then at Annie Mae. “The wages of sin is death. Not even Jesus can save you if you’re burning in eternal damnation.” Out the door he stalked, slamming it so hard, the windowpanes rattled.

  Officer McClatchey picked up the money, smiling grimly at Miriam. “I’m sorry we caused such a commotion during your breakfast rush, but—”

  “No, no,” Miriam insisted as she gestured toward the place Hiram had just vacated. “We’re mighty grateful ya showed up when ya did. Your breakfast is on me this mornin’, sir. Maybe ya don’t know it, but Hiram’s no longer our bishop—”

  “We’re not usually so confrontational,” Bishop Tom joined in, “but we believe he’s gonna cause trouble whenever he can. We’ve got to watch out for Annie Mae here, and her sister Nellie—Hiram’s two older girls—on account of how they walked out on him rather than goin’ to that new colony he’s started over past Morning Star.”

  Outside, they heard a revved-up engine and the loud screech of tires on the blacktop. The policeman’s eyebrows rose as he sat down at the Waglers’ table. “I’d heard a new Amish group was starting out there—”

  “Oh, don’t go callin’ him Amish,” the bishop insisted. “This is the first we’ve seen Hiram with his hair all cut off, drivin’ his car right to our doors. The Old Order has excommunicated him, so he’s not welcome in Willow Ridge unless he asks our forgiveness and changes his ways back to ours.”

  “Well, I don’t see that happening.” Officer McClatchey sighed, looking up at Annie Mae then, an expression of great compassion on his face. “I’m sorry all this is happening, dear. And how are your twin brothers doing now?”

  How was it that when folks were being their nicest, it was hardest to accept their support? Annie Mae closed her eyes, willing herself not to cry. “I . . . I wish I knew,” she murmured. “We don’t know who’s lookin’ after them or—and I don’t dare go over to Higher Ground to see for myself.”

  “I’d stay away from there, yes,” the policeman confirmed. A pensive expression settled over his face then. “I’ll give Clyde Banks—the sheriff in that district—a heads-up about what’s going on, because I have no jurisdiction there.”

  The back door to the kitchen closed with a whump and everyone looked up to see Ben Hooley striding toward the dining room with an odd smile on his face. “By the way Hiram took out of here just now, I take it he was none too happy to see ya, Officer McClatchey,” he remarked as he slipped out of his coat.

  “You called me at just the right time,” the policeman said as he stood to shake Ben’s hand. “As you suspected, Hiram was in here stirring up trouble.”

  “You called him, Ben?” Miriam chirped as she threw her arms around him. “I was wonderin’ why ya hadn’t come in for your breakfast—”

  “That black Cadillac could only belong to one fella.” Ben noisily bussed Miriam’s cheek and then looked at Annie Mae. “You all right? Sorry to say, I figured your dat might’ve come to spit some of his vinegar at you.”

  Annie Mae nodded, once again fearing she might burst into tears. “Jah, I’ll make it. Tell ya what, though, I’m gonna take a little break. Be back in a few.”

  “Take as long as ya need, honey-bunch,” Miriam called after her as she hurried past Naomi and Hannah, through the kitchen.

  Grabbing her coat from the back wall, Annie Mae wondered what to do with all the emotions welling up inside her. When she’d seen her dat looking so—so English—she’d sensed she was in big trouble. And now that he knew she’d been inside the house, he’d keep closer track of her. Where would she be without Miriam and Ben and Bishop Tom and Adam taking her side?

  Annie Mae stepped outside into the brisk winter air, where tiny snowflakes swirled in the breeze. It was so blessedly quiet out here . . . so peaceful. She looked out over the parking lot full of buggies and cars to Ben’s smithy, and then on down the long lane to the Lantz home, where Rachel and Micah Brenneman lived now that they were married. She closed her eyes, seeing a different white house. How she missed stepping out of her home on Bishop’s Ridge to hang out the laundry or to get an idea where the kids might be . . .

  But I’ll never live there again. Everything’s changed, and I’ve got to change, too . . . got to be strong, because Dat’s not nearly finished with me.

  Annie Mae inhaled deeply to settle her racing pulse. When she opened her eyes, it was Adam’s remodeling wagon she saw, with Jerry hitched to the post in front of it. Big and boxy-looking, the vehicle was painted royal blue with dark yellow lettering that said WAGLER REMODELING, with PAINTING, PAPERING & REPAIRS and Adam’s phone number on the next lines.

  She slipped back into the kitchen then, to tuck his lattice-crust apple pie into a bakery box. Everyone in the dining room was chatting happily, so no one noticed what she was doing.

  As Annie Mae returned to the parking lot and stepped onto the running board of Adam’s wagon, she was glad she’d set aside one of these fragrant apple pies for him. It was still slightly warm and radiated the rich scents of cinnamon with a hint of lemon. Adam had come to her defense today—had put himself in her dat’s line of fire when he could’ve stayed out of it.

  Denki for that, Short Stack, she thought as she set the box in the center of the driver’s seat. He was still only a friend—but he was a mighty fine one.

  Chapter Eight

  Adam stepped up into his wagon and stared at the flat, white box on his seat. Without opening it, he knew it contained something wonderfully delicious because the inside of his vehicle smelled like Miriam’s kitchen.

  So this is why Annie Mae took a break . . . .

  But he dared not assume the poor girl had really had him in mind when she’d left the dining room, nearly in tears. Adam was impressed that she had returned to work this morning. By the time he and Matthias had scooted their chairs under the table, she was at the checkout counter ringing up Bishop Tom’s bill and boxing some fresh pastries out of the display case for an English couple. Annie Mae was a tough cookie on the outside, even if he suspected she was more like a cream puff inside—especially after what her dat had dished up today.

  Adam clapped the reins on Jerry’s back and headed toward the day’s job of refinishing an oak floor. If things worked out the way he hoped, he could sand it and stain it today, return tomorrow to seal it, and then work on Andy Leitner’s clinic. And I thank You, Lord, that these Willow Ridge jobs will keep me busy with folks I respect, who’ll pay me an honest day’s wage.

  Adam blinked. While he attended church regularly, he didn’t pray a lot on his own . . . hadn’t had anyone to remind him o
r persuade him to pray, after Mamm died. So thanking God out of the blue caught him by surprise and would give him one more thing to think about—in addition to Hiram Knepp’s appearance and ulterior motives—as he worked on that hardwood floor. . . .

  As Jerry clip-clopped past Hiram’s abandoned home that evening, Adam glanced at the Knepp place but kept on going. He’d done the decent thing, helping Annie Mae and checking the propane tank’s level, but he was staying out of that family’s affairs now. After a strenuous day of sanding and staining, all he wanted was a quiet night at home . . . and another slice of that fabulous apple pie that tasted like nothing he’d ever put in his mouth.

  Adam chuckled as he pulled his horse to a halt outside the barn. Matthias was going to rub him good for eating half of that pie already, but he didn’t care—Annie Mae had given it to him, after all. As he fed and watered the horses, Adam allowed his mind to wander to the tall, slender girl he’d known all his life but had only recently seen. If he asked Annie Mae, would she go out with him? Especially now that she’d given Luke Hooley the boot?

  And why would you want to get that started? Sooner or later, you’ll be a major disappointment to a girl like Annie Mae, because she likes wild excitement . . . running the roads and looking for trouble. She said so herself—even though she also said she was finished with that sort of thing.

  Adam turned. Like a magnet, the motorcycle in the back stall drew him . . . coaxed him to remove the tarp and take a good hard look at temptation. The shiny black fenders, red accents, silver studs, and the sleek black helmet on the seat seemed like something the Devil himself had designed—which was exactly why Adam had gotten a cycle license and acquired this sleek machine when he’d been sixteen. For a very brief time during his rumspringa, he’d known all about running the roads, looking for trouble.

  And he’d found it. And his mother had died because of it.

  Just as Mamm hadn’t had any idea about this motorcycle he’d hidden away at a friend’s house, nobody else knew the awful, exact details of how her buggy had raced into the intersection where the county blacktop crossed the highway . . . the heavy secret he couldn’t bear to confess because he’d been young and scared—

  “Ya really ought to sell that thing,” Matthias said from behind him. “Not doin’ it any gut to sit there and get rusty as time goes by.”

  Adam nearly jumped out of his skin. He’d been so absorbed in his memories that he hadn’t heard his brother enter the barn—and he didn’t want to let on about how those memories still haunted him, either. “Jah, you’re right. What with Hiram hiding that Cadillac in his garage—and now driving it around in front of God and everybody—I’m not much better than he is if I’ve still got this cycle tucked away,” he agreed. “But I don’t have the first clue about where to sell it, or—”

  “Ask Rebecca. She could probably get on her computer and find all sorts of fellas lookin’ for a wicked-gut ride like this one.” Matthias ran his hand over the cycle’s black leather seat, which was outlined with red leather piping and steel studs. “And ya traded a horse for this mean machine?”

  Adam shrugged. “It wasn’t the smartest deal I’ve ever made, but you knew I’d swapped Jake for something else. And since I’d bought him with my own money, and I was getting into rumspringa then, Dat didn’t fuss about my gelding being gone.”

  “Somebody must’ve been desperate.”

  “Remember Allen Stoltzfus, Yonnie’s cousin?”

  Matthias frowned, thinking back. “The one who got two girls in trouble but could only marry one of them?”

  “He suddenly needed a gut horse a lot more than he needed this motorcycle—which he told me had driven him straight to the Devil.” Adam sighed a little louder than he intended to. “And Allen was willing to stash it away for me at his place . . . so Mamm and Dat wouldn’t find out.”

  And that’s all you’re going to say about that.

  Matthias cleared his throat to cover a laugh. “Jah, well, we all had our little secrets,” he teased. “That’s what our runnin’-around time is about. And because you were the little brother with the big mouth, I never let on about the smokin’ and drinkin’ I did with a couple of English friends who thought it was pretty hilarious to lead a backward, backwoods Amish kid astray.”

  Adam raised his eyebrows. “So that explains the times you slipped out of church to puke around back of the house?”

  “Uh-huh. Dat knew what was goin’ on, but he also knew better than to say anything to Mamm. He figured I’d get sick enough—or smart enough—to stop such foolishness eventually.”

  “So what brought you around?” Adam decided to enjoy these moments of confession while Matthias was in the mood to share them; these recollections of his brother’s rumspringa were putting him in a much better frame of mind.

  “Sadie.” Matthias sighed, yet he didn’t plunge into the black pit his late wife’s name usually opened up. “She was a sweet girl, lookin’ for a fella to take her away from a heavy-handed dat. So I gave up the English sins and brought her home with me.”

  Adam recalled their whirlwind courtship—although it wasn’t all that unusual for Amish young people to get engaged before either of them had met the other’s family. It was the more normal thing for newlyweds to live with the girl’s parents for a year or so, but now Adam understood why Sadie and Matthias had stayed here with them. “Truth be told, the folks would’ve been in a bind if you’d moved to Windsor, what with Dat having his heart attack not long after that.”

  Matthias again ran his hand over the motorcycle’s seat and then stepped back to openly admire the vehicle. “I’m no expert, but somethin’ tells me this cycle’s old enough to be worth somethin’. Anything vintage is a big deal these days, and this ride’s got some fine style to it,” he said emphatically. “Any man would understand why ya wanted to go joyridin’ down the country roads on it. The question is, why’d ya stop?”

  Adam looked his brother squarely in the eye. “I joined the church.”

  “That could’ve waited a while. You were barely seventeen—”

  “It felt like the right thing to do after Mamm’s buggy wreck, all right?” Adam quickly draped the tarp over the motorcycle and then grabbed the lantern handle. “So what’d ya throw together for our dinner? I brought home a real tasty dessert from the Sweet Seasons. Actually saved some for you.”

  Matthias got a startled look on his face. “Rats! I left it cookin’ on the stove!”

  As his brother sprinted out the barn door, Adam wished again that Mamm hadn’t raced out to fetch Ruth on that fateful day . . . wished his dat had let Matthias call the ambulance when he’d felt the first chest pains . . . wished that Sadie and her unborn child hadn’t died during her asthma attack.

  But what good were wishes, when they never seemed to come true?

  Chapter Nine

  “Well, here it is the first Friday night of February and I haven’t read The Budget from the end of January yet.” Ben chuckled as he settled beside Miriam on the sofa. “Sounds like quite a hot date for us, ain’t so?”

  Miriam leaned against him and kissed his cheek. His new beard was getting long enough to be soft instead of bristly, and she loved nuzzling it. “It’s the perfect night to stay in by the fire,” she replied. “And isn’t it a treat, hearin’ Rebecca and the Knepp sisters chatterin’ like magpies, havin’ a little sewin’ frolic in the spare room?”

  Ben glanced toward the doorway where the girls were as he picked up the newspaper. “Annie Mae surely must miss goin’ out with fellas on the weekends.”

  “She’s learnin’ that workin’ on her feet all day, all week long, can take some of that run-around out of ya,” Miriam replied. “Could be she feels safer stayin’ tucked away with us, too, instead of bein’ out where Hiram might meet up with her. His visit to the Sweet Seasons spooked her.”

  For a few moments they read in comfortable silence as Miriam rested her head on Ben’s shoulder, holding one side of the paper while he held
the other. The Budget was made up of page after page of letters from the Amish and Mennonite settlements all around the country. She and Ben first read the reports from towns where they had family and friends, before glancing at the scribes’ letters from other areas. Ben had just turned a page to read about his home district in Lancaster County when he let out a gasp.

  “And what do we have here? A report from Higher Ground, Missouri!” he said, jabbing the page with his finger.

  Miriam sat straight up, scanning to the bottom of the column. “Written by a scribe named Delilah Knepp,” she murmured. “Ohhh, Ben, are ya thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’? There’s nobody but Hiram livin’ there yet, ain’t so?”

  “We don’t know that for a fact,” he pointed out. “But obviously some gal named Delilah is there, too. Truth be told, when I saw what Hiram had done to his hair, I figured he was fishin’ for his next wife.”

  “Well, he’s gotta have somebody to watch those four little kids,” she remarked sadly. “Who knows what he might’ve told this Delilah gal to get her to marry him?”

  “Who says he’s married to her? Lots of Knepps live over past Morning Star, and he might’ve convinced one of his cousins or aunts to keep the kids while he latches on to a wife,” Ben speculated. “And he’s havin’ her write up a weekly letter so it looks like the town’s all set up. Nothin’ about that man surprises me anymore.”

  They both read the column for a moment before Ben spoke again. “Hmmm . . . says here they’ve got fifteen new homes and the school completed, plus a dry goods store and other shops. Quite a pitch here, for more folks to come to his new colony. Still time for us to sign on, honey-girl.”

  “Puh! I’m guessin’ Higher Ground’s gonna be a cesspool of surprises and all manner of deceptions in the fine print, which unsuspectin’ new residents will learn about the hard way.” Miriam shook her head. “You’ll notice the letter’s heading doesn’t say it’s an Amish or a Mennonite settlement—so who knows what sort of religion he intends to preach? We need to keep Josh, Joey, Sara, and Timmy in our prayers.”