Love Comes to Paradise Page 16

  Rosanna’s side of the bed was empty. His dear fraa must be already up and preparing breakfast. Even though all his children had married and moved out except Violet, washday still proved long and tedious. Violet would press clothes at her knee-height ironing board, but washing and hanging outdoors remained Rosanna’s chore.

  One thought strengthened Sol as he staggered across the room to dress. The bishop had followed through with the decision reached at their meeting last week. During yesterday’s preaching service, in a clear and booming voice, Ephraim enumerated the Ten Commandments delivered to Moses on Mount Sinai. He stated the laws as written in Scripture and repeated them in common, everyday Deutsch to make sure no one misunderstood. Then he read the entire wording of the second Commandment about graven images. “The law includes ‘any likeness of anything in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath,’” explained the bishop. “No one should photograph you or your kinner.” He gazed over his devout congregation before elaborating on number four: “‘Six days shalt thou labor and do all thy work.’ If God could create heaven and earth in six days, surely we can get our work done in the same amount of time.”

  Solomon had been especially pleased when Ephraim cautioned against becoming too worldly. “Phones are to be used to conduct business or in case of an emergency. Period. There should be no idle chatter on telephones. Such nonsense can wait until the next social event. And television viewing or radio listening is verboten by those baptized into this church.”

  You could have heard a pin drop. Many nodded their heads in agreement, while a few looked disappointed. “Better disappointment now than eternal suffering later on,” Sol muttered on his way downstairs. He winced with each step.

  “Ach, Solomon. Is your back bad?” asked Rosanna, frying sausages at the stove.

  “My back is bad, jah. But it will improve after the first bite of your breakfast.” He sat down clumsily, trying to hide his misery. “Eggs today?”

  “Nein.” She focused on the spattering grease as she removed links with her tongs. “Sausage and French toast.”

  “Where did you find a Frenchman or woman in Paradise so early on a Monday?” Sol pressed his back against the chair. Slouching only aggravated his pain.

  Rosanna carried the platter of meat and two plates of crusty, bright yellow toast to the table. “Who would have guessed such a serious man would have a sense of humor?” She kissed the top of his bald spot before sitting across from him.

  After they bowed their heads in prayer, he said, “I picked up the trait late in life from my dochder. Speaking of whom, where is our youngest?” Sol spiked a sausage with his fork.

  “In the living room. I believe she’s unhappy about something, but I don’t know what.” Rosanna cut her toast into small bites.

  The minister briefly considered his options. “Violet Trask, stop your nonsense and come to breakfast!” His words echoed down the hallway. Sol seldom raised his voice in such a fashion, but considering his back, he wasn’t about to search for the girl. And his fraa needed to eat her meal in peace.

  Within a minute his daughter rolled into the kitchen up to her usual place. “I told mamm I wasn’t hungry.”

  “Then you can drink a cup of coffee and watch us eat.”

  Violet pushed up and transferred herself into a kitchen chair. She reached for the coffee pot to fill her mug as the scent of breakfast proved irresistible. “Please pass the toast and sausage,” she said to her mamm. “I will eat something after all.”

  “What are you sulking about?” Sol asked. “Out with it, and don’t say ‘Nothing.’”

  Violet pulled off her prayer kapp to scratch her head. Several auburn curls sprang loose. “People were talking yesterday after church. They were wondering how Bishop Ephraim heard about the cell phones and watching ball games on TV.” She tugged her head covering back on, leaving several copper tendrils askew.

  Sol frowned. “What difference does it make if I’m the one who informed the bishop? Our Ordnung must be upheld.”

  Violet lowered her fork to her plate. “It makes a huge difference to me. People will figure out that either Emily or I told you what we heard or saw at the bakery. What if Amish folks stop coming to Grain of Life?” Her forehead creased with worry lines.

  “What if they do? You’ll still have local Englischers and those ever-increasing tourists.” Sol stabbed another link of sausage from the plate. “Then perhaps business at your aenti’s bakery will improve.”

  Violet swallowed down a mouthful of French toast as though it were dry instead of moist and tender. “Daed, I love it when Plain folk stop in. Some of them stay to talk with me. I enjoy having friends again like I had in school.”

  Rosanna slapped another piece of toast onto Violet’s plate “Everyone likes you, dochder. People always mention you have a good sense of humor.”

  Violet peered up, her brown eyes round and moist. “That’s just what they say to you, mamm. Only recently have I felt that people actually like me. Nora helped me break from my shell, as she calls it.” She glared at her plate. “I don’t want anything to hurt the progress I’ve made.”

  Sol drank half his cup of coffee. “Stop being foolish. Your imagination is running away with you. Besides, a preacher’s job is to minister to his flock. You don’t see me telling you how to make piecrust, do you?” He dabbed his mouth with his napkin.

  Violet reached for his arm, clutching the sleeve of his coat. “Please, Papa. A couple of friends who linger to visit are single men my age. They see me as a woman capable of earning a living by cooking and baking, besides being friendly and talkative and humorous.” She shot Rosanna a wry smile. “I feel normal for the first time since I fell from the barn loft. I might still have a chance to court and marry and have my own children someday. I hope they don’t stop visiting our bakery just because they also enjoy an occasional baseball game.”

  Solomon opened his mouth but shut it just as quickly. He was speechless. Never had his daughter asked for anything like this. Coconut cream pies and packs of wintergreen gum had been the extent of her desires.

  How could he grant such a request with the position he held?

  How could he not?

  “I don’t know how to answer you, dochder. I must think and pray for guidance.” He awkwardly patted her head as though she were still eight years old.

  One tear ran down her freckled cheek as Violet nodded.

  “Mercy me!” exclaimed Rosanna. “We have more urgent problems than business at the bakery right now.”

  Sol turned his attention to his fraa at the back window. “What is it?” A chill swept over him as the color drained from Rosanna’s face. She clutched her throat as though gagging on a chicken bone. Despite his back spasms, he hurried to the window.

  “What are those, Solomon? Are they grasshoppers?” she asked. They stared at the wheat crop, being inundated by a swarm of insects.

  “Locusts, I believe.” While they watched, the swarm swelled, darkening the sky as though they were experiencing a rare solar eclipse. Sol pushed up the window. They listened to the cacophony crescendo. Locusts alighted on his son’s wheat, remaining long enough to devour the head of grain before moving on. The swarm hovered over the field like a summer thunder cloud, advancing slowly but methodically along.

  Finally galvanized to action, Sol and Rosanna ran out the door toward the field. Solomon’s two sons had also spotted the vermin and abandoned their chores. Irvin and Mark and their wives, along with Sol and Rosanna, ran up rows of wheat shouting and waving hats in the air. Even Violet beat on a pot with a wooden spoon from the back porch, trying to scare off the insects. In the end, the seven Trasks accomplished little but to drive the swarm into the next farm’s field of oats. Rosanna met Sol at the end of a row that had been picked clean. Irvin and Mark hiked through the fields to inspect the damage, still waving their hats at lingering grasshoppers.

  Suddenly, the air filled with an even louder racket as an enormous black cloud of birds arrive
d. The giant flock of crows descended upon his field, landing on crops with a great fluttering of wings.

  “It is the wrath of the Lord!” declared Sol. “Whatever grain the locusts miss will be consumed by the crows.”

  “Look, ehemann.” Rosanna pointed at the surreal scene unfolding before their eyes. “The birds are eating the bugs, not the wheat. Have you ever seen anything like this before?” She gazed wide-eyed as the flock of birds cawed, cackled, and devoured the locusts.

  Putting an arm around Rosanna, Solomon pulled her close. “Not once in all my sixty-five years.”

  Nora loved Fridays at Grain of Life for several reasons. First, she got to sleep late because the bakery didn’t unlock the doors until one o’clock. They stayed open until seven p.m. to accommodate local Englischers running afternoon errands and those on their way home from work. Second, Emily, Violet, and Nora usually shared packed lunches before starting work. A grove of trees behind the shop provided cool shade for their picnic. They would swap news or tidbits of gossip they forgot to share the previous day. Emily always had district updates, while Violet’s tales frequently centered on news from one of her sisters or something she’d read in an English newspaper. Unbeknownst to Solomon, his elder daughter subscribed to the Columbia paper and passed the issues along. Violet loved stories of any kind, even if she didn’t know the people. The third reason? Friday evening was the usual night for Amish social gatherings. If there was to be a cookout, bonfire, or hayride, someone would stop by the bakery and extend the invitation to Violet and her.

  Then maybe, just maybe, Lewis would take them. The past ten days since their romantic dinner in Sturgeon had been a roller coaster of highs and lows. Despite both of them having the next day off, she’d spent hers in a hot kitchen while Lewis helped Jonas’s brothers attempt to salvage the wheat field. Usually she saw him only at supper each night with the Gingerichs. During meals Lewis behaved with the upmost reserve and decorum. Occasionally, he referred to her as Miss King, even though she had sat with him in the porch swing three different evenings after supper. She felt like marking notches on the doorjamb. Considering the turtle pace of the courtship, it was a good thing he planned to stay until fall.

  The bizarre act by Mother Nature had dashed their plans to go fishing from the dock. When the skies filled first with swarms of locusts and then flocks of crows, everyone in Randolph County canceled their outings. While she and Emily baked on Wednesday, Lewis and Jonas assessed crop damage on the Gingerich family farm. Then they drove around the district, viewing the destruction to the other farmers’ oat, rye, barley, and wheat crops.

  Who could imagine cute little grasshoppers would eat so much?

  And who could have predicted hungry crows would devour enough locusts to prevent a complete loss of the grain harvest?

  It was all Violet and Emily wanted to discuss while they ate their sandwiches, chips, and fruit. Of course, Violet’s daed was fraught with anxiety over the implications. Nora had to admit that only in Bible stories had she ever heard of such catastrophes.

  Emily wrung her hands. “I don’t know what to think,” she moaned. “Jonas tells me not to worry, but when I witness an honest-to-goodness plague, how can I not?”

  Nora ate her bologna sandwich stoically. Didn’t Jesus teach us not to be afraid? Despite crop losses, she doubted anyone in Randolph County would starve due to locusts.

  Not that her concerns were any worthier for fretting. Her stress involved being courted by two very different men. During her evening with Lewis, she decided with certainty he was where her heart lay. But what would happen to Elam? He had the notion she’d come to Missouri because of him—which was, in fact, more truth than fiction at the time. And since then she seemed to be his last connection to the Plain world—a slender thread to his former life and birthright. Elam Detweiler, although dressing more English than Amish, hadn’t found acceptance within the fancy lifestyle. No one could live for long perched between two worlds, yet that seemed to be where he remained. Without her, would Elam’s reclusiveness increase or his drinking escalate? Nora shook off the grim notion as Emily poked her arm.

  “Stop daydreaming. It’s time to open the shop.” Emily rose to her feet and brushed crumbs into the grass. “I don’t pay you gals big bucks to lounge around my picnic table.”

  Violet burst into laughter. “You pay Nora nothing and me very little.”

  “Save your breath,” teased Emily. “Fridays aren’t the day to discuss pay raises. I only discuss them on Monday nights between two and four a.m.” Emily hovered next to Violet as she struggled on crutches to reach the back door.

  Nora carried in and set up the wheelchair. “I don’t need a raise. What’s there to buy in Paradise anyway?” She switched the window sign to “Open.”

  “If you come with me to Columbia next month, I’ll show you an assortment of candy at the mall to rot every one of your teeth.” Violet limped to the chair and lowered herself with an audible sigh of relief.

  “That sounds like a wonderful idea,” said Nora, switching on the fan.

  Because the day was very hot, they would do no baking. Their supply of pies, bread, and cookies would just have to suffice. Throughout the afternoon, the women tended customers, updated accounts, inventoried supplies, and wiped down shelves. At six o’clock, as all three were ready to wilt, the bell above the door jangled. Perched on her stool at the back table, Nora didn’t glance up with the routine sound.

  “Nora, you’d better come up here,” called Violet.

  Nora swiveled to see tall, broad-shouldered Elam Detweiler in the doorway. He sported a ball cap turned backwards, a scruffy beard, a T-shirt under another plaid shirt, and snug blue jeans. She hadn’t seen him since they exchanged strong words in the Gingerich yard—the day Lewis had been hired.

  “Hey there, Nora,” he said in his husky, deep voice. Elam directed his smile solely at her, despite the other two women in the room. “Remember me?”

  Nora walked to the counter. “Of course. Do you remember Violet and Emily?” She angled her head toward her coworkers.

  “Good afternoon, ladies. You’re both looking lovely as usual.” Elam offered a forced smile at the two. “I wondered if I could speak privately with Nora for a moment.” He pushed up his hat with one finger.

  She shuffled her feet on the polished wooden floor. Since Lewis came to town, she no longer wished to see Elam, but something about his hopeful, solemn face resurrected memories of Harmony when he’d been her only friend in the world. Not knowing what to do, she glanced at Emily.

  “Take a walk outdoors,” said her boss. “I wouldn’t want the Department of Labor showing up for not providing break time.” Emily adjusted her reading glasses on her nose.

  “All right. Just for a few minutes.” Nora slipped off her apron and left it on the counter. When Elam opened the door, she followed him into the blistering summer heat. Although not air-conditioned, the bakery remained livable due to screened windows and battery-powered fans. They walked to the shady trees behind the shop, where she’d eaten lunch a few hours earlier.

  “I’m not afraid to admit I’ve missed you, Nora. I still think about our date in Columbia. Didn’t we have fun that night?” Elam cocked his head to one side. “I shouldn’t have come to Jonas’s all hot under the collar. I don’t care whether or not Lewis works at the lumberyard as long as we’re together.” His soft words drifted on the warm air like a caress…and took Nora by complete surprise.

  “But we’re not together, Elam, and we never have been. I did enjoy myself at the Mexican restaurant—up until you bought us alcoholic drinks and tried to get fresh when you dropped me off at home.” She stepped back, uncomfortable with his proximity and spicy scent. He wore some sort of men’s cologne.

  His handsome face blanched. “I regret ordering the drinks, especially since I don’t seem to handle alcohol well. And I shouldn’t have tried to kiss you. Both were big mistakes.” He had never sounded more sincere. “Are you courting Lewis
Miller now?” His question was barely a whisper.

  “I went out with him once, but I don’t want to get serious with either of you.” Nora felt shame about minimizing her relationship with Lewis, but she saw little advantage in hurting Elam. The man had few friends in Paradise—very much the way she had been in Harmony.

  Elam brightened and pulled off his hat. A thick lock of hair fell across his forehead. “In that case, give me another chance. Let’s start over, and I’ll do things right this time. I have a soft spot for you, Nora King. Surely you must like me better than that duller-than-spoons shopkeeper.”

  The little hairs on Nora’s neck rose like porcupine quills. “Have you forgotten I’m a shopkeeper?”

  “Only temporarily, until I win you over. Then we’ll move to my new apartment and you won’t have to work in this sweatbox. What can you find to talk about with Miller—the exorbitant prices of baking ingredients?” Elam hooted maliciously. “Or maybe the best way to get nasty stains out of white aprons?”

  Nora’s nostrils flared. She felt like a goat preparing to charge a fence. “Maybe Lewis and I discuss how we enjoy being Amish and, unlike you, wish to stay that way. I’m not interested in your English apartment in the city.”

  “That’s because you’ve never tried things my way.” His eyes narrowed into a glare.

  “And I don’t plan to. Your intentions are clear, Elam, but so are mine about remaining Amish. I tried courting you and it was a disaster. I’m sorry you stopped in today for nothing.” Nora tried to step around him, but he blocked her path.