The Amish Baker. Marie E. Bast

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СКАЧАТЬ it to the side. Then she grabbed more ingredients, stirred up several batches of yeast rolls and set them to rise.

      While the yeast worked, she stirred up a spice cake and shoved it into the oven. When the cake tested done, she pulled it out and popped the bread and rolls in to bake. She set the timer and started on the pies and cookies.

      When the first batch of baked goods had cooled, she carted the pastries to the front of the shop and placed them in the display case. A job Hannah Ropp, her friend and assistant, usually performed. Hannah loved to decorate the shelves with rows of cookies and cupcakes in cute patterns—maybe in a heart shape.

       Where is Hannah? She’s usually here by now.

      Sarah set the goodies the kinner liked on the bottom shelf. Treats adults normally selected took over the middle shelf. The best sellers, breads and rolls claimed the prize spot on the top shelf.

      Without Hannah, she didn’t have time to arrange the shelves neatly. Her eyes roamed over the display. Not as gut a job as her friend would have done, but good enough for now.

      The bakery’s cell phone, which the Ordnung allowed for business, jingled and lit up with Hannah’s name. She touched the screen. “Where are you?”

      “I figured you’d forget. I have a doctor’s appointment this morning and will be in around noon.”

      “I’m sorry. I did forget.” Tension laced her voice.

      “Oh, no. Is something wrong?”

      “I wanted to tell you what Bishop Yoder said to me yesterday.”

      “What did he say?” Hannah asked, her voice steeped in concern.

      “He told me it’s time to get remarried.” Sarah blurted into the phone. “I’m happy. I don’t want an ehemann.”

      “Ach! I told you that I heard the bishop had a habit of pressuring some of the widows into remarrying. Now do you believe me?”

      “Hannah, that’s gossiping and a sin.” Sarah shook her head.

      “It’s only a sin if it’s not true. This is true.”

      “Shame on you, Hannah Ropp. You’re looking for loopholes in the Bible.”

      “Jah, jah. Gotta go. Hang on ’til I get there, and we’ll talk about it.”

      “Don’t hurry. I’m managing.” Sarah hit the end button.

      She grabbed a wet dishcloth and started wiping off the crumbs she’d spilled on the counter. As her hand zipped across the Formica, it bumped the walnut papa and mama bears Samuel had carved, knocking them over with a bang. Sarah jerked her hand back.

      Slowly, she picked each one up—holding her breath—and surveyed for damage before setting it upright. She heaved a long sigh.

      Both fine.

      The bears were one of the few things she had left to remind her of Samuel. They brought her comfort and served as a good form of advertisement for the Amish artisans in the area. Many Englischers had admired the walnut carvings and asked for directions to the woodcraft shop.

      The bishop’s words flitted through her mind again. Working fourteen hours a day in the bakery gave her little time to care for a family. Would an ehemann allow her to keep the shop? The bakery was her life. It was all she had. She couldn’t give it up. Not to mention, she had an obligation to the town—Kalona—and to her customers.

      When Samuel had died three years ago, she had stumbled through those first few weeks as if she were groping her way around a dark house without a lantern. Nothing made sense, she couldn’t make a decision and she had no desire to bake. She had promised to liebe, honor and cherish Samuel “’til death do us part,” but she’d figured that meant after fifty years of marriage and seven kinner.

      Her heart had shattered as if it were a crystal dropped upon the floor. Hannah had helped her plow through the sorrow of Samuel’s death.

      But life had had no meaning after Samuel died until she returned to the bakery and continued with her cookbook that she would dedicate to her parents and the bakery they loved. Some of their recipes mingled in with her recipes.

      Nein. She couldn’t give up the bakery. She wouldn’t. The bishop couldn’t make her remarry.

       Could he?

      She didn’t believe Hannah’s gossip. Surely the bishop was only matchmaking those who wanted a spouse.

      After grabbing a set of pot holders, she opened the oven door to a steamy whiff of white bread, mingled with the aroma of fresh cinnamon rolls and buttered buns. She set the pans on racks to cool. Pivoting, she glanced at the clock.

      Ach. Almost time to unlock the front door.

      Sarah pulled out the medium-roast and the decaf beans and started the coffee. While it brewed, she wrote the daily special on the chalkboard, then scooted to the front door, pulled the dead bolt back and flipped the sign to Open.

      She puttered around the shop, setting out foam cups and filling the napkin holders. When the doorbell jingled, she stashed the napkin bags behind the counter and looked up into the face of an Amish man she’d never seen before. Judging from his trimmed beard and hair, he was New Order Amish. In her Old Order community, men didn’t trim their beards.

      “Welkum.” Sarah whisked out her best smile.

      “Danki.” His voice was as quiet as his footfalls. Glancing at the pastries, he smiled and shook his head as if the decision were too much for this early in the morning.

      “Can I help you?” Sarah’s gaze locked with his sage-green eyes, which were set against sun-bronzed skin. A handsome face for sure and for certain. Ach. She stared. He’d think her a forward woman. Her cheeks heated like roasting marshmallows and she glanced away.

      He removed his straw hat and twirled it around in his hands as he studied the rolls, cookies and pies. Each received a generous amount of time.

      “Gut morgen. I’m Caleb Brenneman. How do you do?”

      Sarah’s stomach tickled as he looked at her. “Fine, danki. I’m Sarah Gingerich. I own the bakery.”

      “Nice to meet you. I’ll have a cinnamon roll and a cup of that gut-smelling coffee.”

      She handed him the roll and coffee, then gestured to the five tables and chairs by the windows. “Feel free to have a seat.”

      After serving the others who’d trailed into the bakery behind Caleb, Sarah refilled the display case but sensed the newcomer’s eyes watching her work. Did he know her? She couldn’t place him. Because of the bakery, she was acquainted with most of the Plain community around Kalona, at least by sight. Still, the Amish were scattered in seven counties in Iowa, so there were plenty she hadn’t met.

      She glanced his way at the exact moment when he looked at her. Ach—caught! A smile brewed deep in her chest and crept onto her lips. “Do you СКАЧАТЬ