Family Blessings. Anna Schmidt

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      “Who was that man Gunther was sitting with?” Hannah asked.

      “That’s Bishop Troyer’s great-nephew from Ohio.”

      “He’s visiting then?”

      “No, apparently he’s come here to go into business.” She could see that several other women—especially those who lived some distance from town and were eager to learn more about the handsome stranger they’d seen for the first time that morning—had leaned in closer to hear what she was saying. “An ice cream shop,” she added, setting off a chain reaction of whispers as the news was repeated from one group to the next. The women were soon occupied speculating about the addition of an ice cream parlor and whether or not that was a good thing or something far too frivolous for an Amish community.

      “Yes,” Hilda added, “it seems that the bishop’s nephew—great-nephew that is—has purchased the empty building next to the bakery and the storehouse behind.”

      As this new bit of information set off a wave of speculation among the others about whether or not the newcomer would also live in the building, Pleasant moved closer to Hannah and lowered her voice. “He has asked me—well, Father, really—to provide him with the baked cones he will use to serve his ice cream,” she confided. “He expects to be in need of a steady supply.”

      Hannah’s eyebrows lifted. “You’ll be working even longer hours then. Hilda certainly won’t approve of that.”

      “Well, what can I do? In these times, business has slowed to such a state that we almost never sell more than the basics. This is an order that we can’t afford to decline and frankly, it will be nice to work on something besides rye bread and rolls.”

      “Perhaps Greta could …”

      Pleasant laughed at the very idea that her youngest half sister might be any help at all. “Greta? That girl is a dreamer and it’s all she can do to attend to the few chores she’s responsible for at home. She would forget to check the ovens and no doubt burn the cones to a crisp,” she said, but there was a fondness in her tone that spoke volumes. “And Lydia has all she can manage with the school.”

      Hannah pressed her hands over her apron. “I suppose I could help some,” she said. “At least for a while.”

      Pleasant saw how her friend caressed the flatness of her stomach under her apron. “Oh, Hannah, you’re expecting another child?”

      Hannah’s smile was radiant—more radiant than it had been even on the day when she had married Levi or the day when she had delivered twins—a boy and a girl, now three years old and the image of their mother. She nodded then put her finger to her lips. “Shhh. I’m fairly certain and I don’t want anyone to know until I have the chance to tell Levi.”

      Pleasant could not have been more touched that Hannah was trusting her with this wonderful secret. It was a mark of just how much their friendship had grown.

      “Caleb is going to soon feel outnumbered by little ones,” she teased. Caleb was Pleasant’s nephew—the boy who had run away with Levi’s circus. Now as a teenager he was of an age to make one of the most important decisions of his young life. In the Amish faith—as in any Anabaptist group—baptism was an act of joining the church and as such was not performed until the person was of an age to be able to understand the covenant he or she was making with God. To prepare a young person for such a decision, parents often looked the other way while their teenagers took some time to explore the ways of the outside world. That time was called Rumspringa or “the season for running around.” Of course, in some ways, Caleb had done that when he ran away with Levi’s circus.

      Hannah did not smile as Pleasant might have expected. Instead, she sighed. “I do worry about how he will feel about another baby in the house. After all, I remember what you said about your feelings after Gunther remarried and then Lydia and Greta came along. What if he decides to run away again?”

      “Caleb will be fine,” Pleasant assured her. “It’s not the same at all.”

      Hannah’s smile showed her relief. “I certainly have you to inspire me. The way you came into this house and made a true home for Merle’s children. They love you as if you were their real mother, you know.”

      Pleasant waved away the compliment. “That was God’s will. And God will show you and Levi the way as well.”

      Hannah squeezed her hand. “Thank you, Pleasant.” She finished slicing the last loaf of bread, then added, “Bishop Troyer’s great-nephew seems quite … nice. Is he … does he have a family?”

      Pleasant knew the look her friend was giving her. It fairly shouted Hannah’s idea that perhaps there might be a potential for romance for Pleasant here. “He is single and I’m sure there will be any number of our younger unattached women who will be happy to learn that.”

      Hannah watched Pleasant take ears of corn from a large pot and stack them on a platter. “It’s been two years, Pleasant.”

      “You know my feelings on this matter,” Pleasant reminded her.

      “But why not at least open your heart to the possibility?”

      “I have been married, Hannah.”

      “But have you ever truly been in love?”

      Pleasant looked at Hannah for a long moment. Hannah had been twice blessed with true love—first with Pleasant’s brother and then again with Levi. But other women—women like Pleasant—were called to other things. “Shh,” she whispered and nodded toward one of the other women who had moved in closer to hear their conversation.

      Then Hannah picked up two platters of sliced bread. “You’ll bring the corn?”

      Out in the side yard the men had just set the last of the benches for serving the meal. Hilda organized a parade of women, each carrying some platter, bowl or pitcher and headed across the yard. Pleasant looked at the stacked ears of sweet corn on the platter, but found herself remembering the plate of doughnuts and the ones that had fallen, and the touch of his hand.

      And the way he had looked at her. Had he felt what she felt, if only for an instant?

      She pushed the back door open with her hip, and although she heard the music of Jeremiah’s laughter, she battled the temptation to glance his way. She refused to surrender to an old maid’s fantasy that a man like that could ever be interested in one so plain.

       Chapter Two

      On Monday morning, after attending services with his great-uncle and aunt, Jeremiah stood at the front window of his shop. Along the unpaved road that stretched before him lay acres of celery fields on one side and a line of boxy houses—some of them little more than wooden shacks but every one of them pristine—on the other. At the far end of the street stood the large white house where services had been held. The home of the baker.

      There was no reason that he could define about why he had been drawn to her like a moth to light. In the brief encounters he had had with her, he had noticed something in her eyes—a sadness and resignation that this was the life she’d been given and she needed to make the best of it. Jeremiah understood that feeling. He’d dealt with it from the day his father had died and he and his mother and siblings had moved in with his uncle. СКАЧАТЬ