An Amish Holiday Wedding. Carrie Lighte

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СКАЧАТЬ she awoke on Monday, her indignation had faded, but as she bicycled through the dark, her leg burned with each painful rotation of the pedals. Feeling cranky, she hoped she’d have a few minutes alone before Pearl arrived. Usually, the older woman didn’t come in until seven thirty or eight, but this week she planned to work longer hours to help fill the Thanksgiving pie orders.

      Faith sighed. Thanksgiving was ten days away and they were behind schedule as it was. They’d received so many orders that Faith resorted to limiting the number of fresh-baked pies she’d sell during the half week before the holiday. Instead, she offered customers the option of buying unbaked, frozen pies, which they could pick up anytime. Many Englischers said they’d be glad to experience the fragrant aroma of “homemade” pies baking in their ovens. Some brought in their own pie plates, and Faith inferred they might intend to take credit for making the pies themselves, but she didn’t mind one bit; each order brought her closer to making her down payment.

      But exactly how much closer was she? The surge in orders was generating more income, but since she was also spending more on ingredients and paying Pearl for extended hours, Faith wasn’t sure how the figures would balance out. Bookkeeping wasn’t her strength, but she planned to review her financial records as soon as things slowed down in the bakery.

      “Guder mariye,” Pearl cheerfully greeted Faith. “You’re limping! What happened to your leg? Were you romping through the woods with those darling nephews of yours again? You dote on them. You’ll make a fine mother someday—”

      “It’s nothing,” Faith cut in. She was edgy enough without being reminded she probably wouldn’t make a fine mother someday. “You’re here even earlier than I am. Did you start a pot of kaffi?”

      “I just put it on.”

      They took turns making and rolling pie dough and peeling and slicing apples until it was time to flip the sign on the door to Open.

      “Guess who’s up bright and early this morning?” Pearl chirped, returning from the task. “Hunter Schwartz. I spotted him in the shop.”

      Her cheeks burning at the mention of Hunter’s name, Faith only mumbled, “Hmm.”

      “The cannery doesn’t open until nine. He must be an especially hard worker.”

      First Pearl called him a fine, strapping young man and now she was praising his industriousness. Faith knew the older woman well enough to suspect her comments were a prelude to matchmaking.

      “Jah,” Faith carefully concurred. “Diligence was always one of Hunter’s admirable attributes, even when we were kinner.” Then, so Pearl wouldn’t read any personal interest into Faith’s admission, she added, “That’s one of the reasons I didn’t hesitate to hire him.”

      “We should extend a personal invitation for him to join us for his afternoon meal, the way Ivy and Ruth always do. You could go over there before the customers start arriving and—”

      Now Faith felt positive Pearl was laying the groundwork for a match between her and Hunter. “Neh!” she refused more adamantly than she intended.

      Pearl put her hand to her throat as if wounded. “Oh,” she apologized meekly. “I just thought it would be a neighborly thing to do.”

      Faith realized she may have misinterpreted Pearl’s intentions and regretted her decision hurt Pearl’s feelings, but she didn’t back down. “It’s a lovely thought, Pearl. But we’re so busy filling orders I don’t foresee myself taking proper dinner breaks. It wouldn’t be polite for me to personally invite him and then not join all of you once he got here.”

      “Neh, of course not, I understand,” Pearl said. “Work comes first.”

      “I didn’t mean that,” Faith clarified. “I only meant...”

      The bell jangled on the door and one of the Englisch regulars stopped in for his morning coffee and honey bar. Faith was relieved she didn’t have to confess the real reasons she couldn’t possibly sit down and eat dinner with Hunter Schwartz. For one thing, even though he was already well aware of the size of her waist, she didn’t want him to know how much she ate and judge her for it. For another, there was something about seeing him again as an adult that made her doubt she could swallow two bites in front of him. The feeling wasn’t merely the awkwardness over broken eggs or broken bridges, nor was it necessarily an unpleasant sensation, but it was unsettling all the same. Once Faith became accustomed to working with him, perhaps she’d feel different. For now, she hoped she wouldn’t see much of Hunter until after Thanksgiving, when he began making deliveries. Perhaps by then, she’d even lose a couple of pounds.

      * * *

      Hunter wiped his palms against his trousers. On Saturday he’d mopped the floor, and he’d come into the cannery early this morning to restock the shelves so that everything was exactly where it should be. Rather, everything except one very important person: Ivy. It was ten minutes before nine o’clock. The shop opened at nine on weekdays, and Ivy was nowhere to be seen.

      Hunter was afraid this might happen. Ivy lived alone with her grandfather, Mervin Sutter, who introduced Ivy to Hunter and Iris after church on Sunday. The blonde, petite, sixteen-year-old girl wouldn’t look Hunter in the eye as she mumbled a barely audible greeting. He attributed her shyness to his own appearance, assuming she was intimidated because he was twice her size. Also, his pants were dripping from walking into the creek and he was shaking with cold. To her, he probably looked like a crazed bear, which was a bit how he felt at that particular moment.

      Glancing through the window toward the bakery, he wondered how Faith’s leg was this morning. He knew from experience pain had a way of getting worse as the day wore on. As he uttered a quick prayer this wouldn’t be the case for Faith, he caught sight of her approaching a table toward the front of her shop. She disposed of a napkin and paper cup and scrubbed the table in swift circles with a cloth. To his surprise, when she was done she lifted her hand in acknowledgment. Pleased she seemed to have put his shortcomings during yesterday’s incident behind her, he waved back.

      Then he realized she wasn’t waving to him, but to Ivy, who was passing on the sidewalk in front of the cannery. She pulled the door open just as the clock began to chime on the hour.

      “Ruth Graber turns the sign to Open at nine o’clock,” Ivy stated in a monotone.

      Hunter was startled speechless by her greeting. Then he recalled Ruth advising him that habits were very important to Ivy and he mustn’t disrupt her routine.

      “Of course, denki for the reminder, Ivy,” he said as he flipped the sign on the door.

      For the rest of the morning, Ivy didn’t say a word unless asked. But she led the customers to any item they requested and she could quote the jars’ contents and prices by heart. However, Hunter quickly discovered that while her recitation skills were excellent, Ivy had no ability to add or multiply figures. So, he used the cash register to create receipts while she bagged the customers’ purchases.

      Virtually all of the customers were Englischers, but at midmorning, a slightly built, bespectacled Amish man, Joseph Schrock, paid a visit to introduce himself. Joseph’s father, Daniel Schrock, owned Schrock’s Shop, which featured Amish-made crafts and goods that were especially appealing to tourists, and the store turned a healthy profit.

      “It’s gut to meet another businessman,” Joseph said. “Sometimes СКАЧАТЬ