A Little Bit of Charm Read online

  “I get it. If they write to you electronically, you need to make time to write back. And writing letters whether on paper or a computer takes time.” Her braid swung so invitingly he yearned to catch it between his fingers. Unfortunately, they had reached the entrance to the stable office.

  “I’m starved. Want to grab some lunch with me in the break room?” He flourished a hand toward the door as though beckoning her to a banquet.

  Rachel skipped up the steps. “Sure, as long as you help me eat what I brought. My cousin packed enough food for a small village. I’ll wash up, get my lunch bag, and meet you at the table.” She disappeared into the ladies’ room.

  Jake bolted into the lounge to make sure no one had left half-eaten donuts or dirty coffee cups lying about. He spritzed the table by the window with spray cleaner and wiped it until the surface gleamed. When she returned, he was leaning back in his chair, relaxed and at ease. At least, that’s how he hoped he appeared.

  She opened her insulated lunch bag. “I like having a locker here—a place to stick my stuff.” While talking, she pulled out two sandwiches and two apples and placed half in front of him.

  Jake unwrapped the waxed paper and bit into the thick ham and cheese. Before he could swallow, Rachel bowed her head in silent prayer. He felt like a heel. Sometimes his family remembered to say grace, but often his younger sister started expounding on some schoolyard drama first. “Sorry,” he whispered when she lifted her head. “My manners are a little rusty.”

  “It’s all right.” Rachel took small, dainty bites of her sandwich.

  He slowed his pace so he wouldn’t resemble a ravenous stray dog. “What does your schedule look like for the afternoon?”

  “One more tour, but it’s not until two thirty. Then I’ll be finished for the day. Your sister explained that bookings are lighter in the fall than during the summer.” She sipped from her water bottle.

  “Would you like to see the old maple sugar shack? My granddaddy used to boil down sap from our trees and make the best pancake syrup around.”

  “I would if I can get back before my bus group arrives.”

  “No problem. It’s not far.”

  He cleaned up their trash while Rachel stowed her bag. Jake noticed every head in the room turn when she walked by. He wasn’t the only male to notice how pretty she was.

  On the way to the sugaring cabin in the bright afternoon sunshine, Rachel didn’t seem to mind their temporary lull in conversation, but the silence was killing him. How could he appear witty, charming, and intelligent if he couldn’t think of a single thing to say? What should he talk about with an Amish woman? She probably didn’t follow sports or popular music or go to movies on weekends. Fortunately, Skinny Joe sauntered out of the tall weeds at that moment.

  “Goodness, a one-eyed cat.” Rachel bent down to scoop the orange kitty into her arms. “You are beautiful despite your disability.” She held the cat nose-to-nose before settling him in the crook of her arm. “I suspect there’s a story here.”

  “His name is Skinny Joe. I found him hiding in the bushes by our mailbox. He’d been thrown out of a car and was in pretty bad shape. I rushed him to the vet for treatment, but his eye couldn’t be saved.” He scratched Joe behind the ear. “Our vet is an animal lover, same as me, so she made me a deal. She spays or neuters any feral cats I bring in and provides shots for twenty-five dollars. Afterward, she notches an ear so the animal warden knows to leave these cats alone. As long as strays are healthy and don’t add to the cat overpopulation problem, they can run wild and keep down the number of mice and other rodents.”

  “How many have you taken to her so far?” Rachel stroked his fur continually while Joe purred as loud as a lawnmower.

  “Twenty-eight and counting. Everybody thinks the countryside is a great place to dump pets.” He shook his head. “Jessie already has two house cats, and my dad doesn’t want too many around the horse barns. I’ve found homes for most of them, but nobody fell in love with Skinny Joe.”

  Rachel clucked her tongue. “Nobody until now. I would take him home in a heartbeat if I wasn’t a guest at my cousin’s. People must be blind to his inner beauty.” She bent down and kissed Joe’s fuzzy head.

  “I’d bet he feels the same about you.” They had reached the cabin, and a moment later Jake swept open the door to a bygone era.

  Setting the animal down, Rachel stepped inside. Joe scampered up the narrow steps to the loft in search of tasty critters. “I love this place.” She ran her hand along the rim of a huge evaporation kettle. “I can still smell the scent of maple sugar. Doesn’t anybody tap your trees anymore?”

  “No. Dad and Mom are too busy. My mother is a pharmacist, and Dad has the stable to run. Every year we talk about tapping trees in January, but there’s always so much to do. Maybe we will someday once my little brother gets old enough to be serious help around the place. I would love to bottle a batch labeled ‘Grandpa Jeremiah’s Secret Recipe.’ The tour groups would snap it up in the gift shop. Profits would soar.”

  “You can count on me for your first sale. I drown my pancakes in syrup.” Rachel smiled at him almost as warmly as she had at Skinny Joe.

  Suddenly the shack felt uncomfortably warm and airless. Jake loosened his collar and crossed his arms. Beads of sweat began forming across his forehead. Like Rachel at her first tour stop, he couldn’t think of a single thing to say—not about maple sugar or one-eyed cats or anything else. He was alone with the prettiest girl in Kentucky in his favorite spot on the farm, and he could barely breathe.

  As though she sensed his discomfort, Rachel walked around the cabin conducting an inspection. “I would say all this place needs is a good cleaning, and then it will be ready to fire up the woodstove next January. But now I must go back to the office and prepare for my next group. I want to review the manual to make sure I don’t panic this afternoon.” She took a step toward the door. “Thanks, Jake, for the tour of the sugar cabin and helping me eat lunch. I’ll see you later.” Without waiting for his response, she bolted out the door and down the path without a backward glance.

  And that was a good thing. Because Jake stood in the center of the room with his mouth agape and his mind spinning in ten different directions at once.

  FIVE

  ’Twas grace that taught my heart to fear

  Friday morning

  And did you know that grossdawdi Brady used to tap their maple trees and boil down the sap into pancake syrup?” asked Rachel, buttering her second piece of toast. “Just like our grossdawdi did back in Mount Joy.”

  Sarah rolled her eyes. “How could I have known that? I don’t keep up with what Englischers do around here.” She placed three strips of bacon beside a hearty mound of scrambled eggs and set the plate before her quiet husband. After she scooped up more modest portions for Rachel and herself, she sat down at the table. “All I know is you haven’t stopped talking about Twelve Elms since you got home Wednesday evening. You have much to say even though you’ve only given two tours so far.”

  “Enough, fraa,” murmured Isaac. “Let’s bow our heads so we can eat.” When they finished, he glanced at Rachel and then his wife. “Everything is exciting when you’re new. Remember the summer you worked at Bread of Life? You went on and on about their desserts. One would have thought they invented sweet potato pie.” He ate a piece of bacon in two bites.

  Sarah laughed. “Jah, I remember. I earned such good tips serving lunch. But by the end of the week I was too tired to do my work around the house. When the tourist season ended, I was glad to return to my lovely chickens…and to you, ehemann.” She laid her small hand atop his large, calloused one. Isaac blushed liked a teenager on his first date.

  Rachel ate her breakfast faster than usual. “Mir leid,” she apologized. “I don’t mean to sound prideful or overly concerned with the English. But I do like giving tours, and the Bradys have been very nice to me.”

  “Isaac is right. The bloom will soon fade from the rose. Enjoy yo
urself while you can. You will quickly learn that work is just that…work.” Sarah sipped her coffee. “You were such a big help yesterday that I have nothing to complain about. Thank you, cousin.”

  Rachel carried her plate and cup to the sink. “There’s nothing to thank me for, Sarah. I live and eat here, so I should help with chores. Moving to Kentucky doesn’t change how we both were raised.” She filled her travel mug and snapped on the lid. “I’m leaving now so I won’t have to hurry.” She tucked the lunch packed last night into her tote bag while guilt lay beneath her bacon and eggs. Even though she had chatted endlessly about her new job, she failed to mention she wore English clothes while at Twelve Elms.

  Officially, she was still on rumschpringe—a period of testing the waters before baptism and joining the Amish or Old Order Mennonite church. During this time, she was permitted to court young men and work outside the home. Many of her friends took trips to Walt Disney World or learned to drive cars or bought English clothes to wear away from home. Rachel had never been so inclined…until now. Wearing Amish garb during tours would trigger too many questions about her instead of the stable.

  “I’ll see you tonight, cousins. Watch out for angry hens,” she teased on her way out the door.

  Soon she was on her way to Twelve Elms on a perfect autumn day. She thought about the chores she helped Sarah with and decided she must never be late or forget to pass out brochures or do anything else that could get her fired. They had scrubbed out nesting boxes, swept floors, and raked the areas that enclosed specific flocks. After a long hot shower, she had fallen into bed exhausted, sick of hearing cluck-cluck-cluck as the chickens scratched around for corn. Those silly birds would continue to eat until they exploded. But with her current tour schedule, she only had to help Sarah three days a week, leaving three days of pure pleasure, and one day for rest. “Life was good in Charm,” to quote Keeley.

  After two back-to-back tours that morning, Rachel headed into the break room for lunch. She was starving. When she spotted Jake across the room, her spirits soared even higher. If they ate together, she could ask him questions about the yearling she kept hearing about.

  “Hi, Jake.” She dropped her lunch bag on the table.

  “You’re just the person I wanted to see.” He pulled a grocery store bag from the refrigerator and sauntered across the room. “Because you were kind enough to share your lunch on Wednesday, I packed us a picnic.” He opened the sack to reveal several plastic containers. “Fried chicken, potato salad, sliced peaches, and iced tea.” His brown eyes sparkled with warmth. Instead of his usual T-shirt, he wore a pressed cotton shirt tucked into his jeans.

  “You fried up chicken?” Rachel lowered her voice to a whisper, aware that several other employees were listening while they ate.

  “Nah. Mom made plenty last night for supper so we would have leftovers for today.” He tucked a stack of napkins into the bag. “What do you say?”

  It took little time to decide. “Sure. I’ll save my sandwich for tomorrow. Should I look for Keeley so she can join us?”

  But Jake had already headed out the door instead of sitting at a table. Rachel glanced around the room. With him gone, six pairs of eyes fastened on her. Suddenly shy and embarrassed, she threw her lunch in the refrigerator and hurried after him.

  He was waiting for her outside. “No, Keeley always eats in front of the TV in the air-conditioning. There are shows she hates to miss. I left enough for her, Virgil, and my dad in the house.”

  “Good to hear your family won’t starve.” Rachel lifted an eyebrow.

  He strolled down the steps, slinging the bag over his shoulder. “I thought we could take our picnic to the old waterwheel on such a nice day.”

  Rachel felt a mixed bag of emotions with his suggestion. On the one hand, she was thrilled at the prospect of eating lunch with one of the owners of Twelve Elms. Jake knew everything about Thoroughbreds. But on the other hand, the thought of slipping away with an Englischer made her feel sneaky…sort of like the jeans and T-shirt hidden in the bottom of her tote bag when she left the Stolls’ house. “Okay, as long as we’re not gone too long. Jessie explained I get a thirty-minute paid lunch break. If I need more time than that, it’s off the clock.”

  “We’ll head back in exactly twenty-five minutes.” Looking at his watch, Jake handed her the large bag. “You carry our lunch and start down the path toward the river. I’ll catch up after I get something from the porch.” He sprinted off the moment her fingers grasped the handles.

  She was being silly. If she worked in the English world, she needed to think like an Englischer for six hours a day. Men and women probably shared meals all the time in modern society without anyone thinking it strange or starting rumors. She relaxed as she hiked downhill toward the old mill, the sun warming her back and shoulders. Crickets and grasshoppers leaped before each footfall, while their friends and relatives created a din in the nearby shrubbery. Overhead hawks and eagles wheeled on warm air currents, pestered by darting smaller birds in their wake. Everywhere life seemed intent on frenetic activity as though aware the cold winds of winter were only weeks away.

  Jake caught up just as she ducked through the mill’s low doorway. “You beat me, Rachel. You’re a fast walker. Here, I picked these for you early this morning.” He produced a huge bunch of flowers from behind his back. “I wanted to give you them before they wilted.”

  Rachel stared at the bouquet as though unfamiliar with mums, asters, roses, and Queen Anne’s lace. “I don’t know what to say, Jake. This was so…unnecessary.”

  “Since when do gifts have to be necessary?” He stared at the outstretched bouquet. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like flowers? Are you allergic or something?”

  Setting down their lunch, she accepted the bouquet. “No, I’m not allergic.” Rachel walked to the ancient wall that separated them from the cascading river far below. Ivy climbed the stones, covering the mossy wall with greenery. “It’s just that with my people, those who work together don’t give each other presents.” She let a few moments pass so that her meaning was clear. “That’s only for courting couples.”

  Jake set out chicken and potato salad in between them on the wall, and then he handed her a cloth napkin for her lap. “That’s pretty much how it is with English people too.” He focused on the salad he was spooning onto their plates. “That’s why I did it. I thought maybe we could go out to dinner or to the movies sometime.” He glanced up but then looked away quickly.

  “That would not be a good idea.” She took a bite of the chicken leg for something to do.

  Jake held his piece aloft, inches from his mouth. “Why not? I assume you’re old enough to date. I’m twenty-three—that’s plenty old enough.”

  The plaintiveness in his voice broke her heart. “I’m twenty, well into the courting years. And I like you just fine. That’s not the problem.” She gulped down some iced tea.

  “Then what is it? Do you have a boyfriend back home?”

  “I have no…boyfriend back home.” Two blackbirds took flight far overhead, drawing her attention. “You know I’m Amish. We talked about that the day we met.” She ate some potato salad, suddenly eager for the picnic to be over.

  “What difference does that make? Amish folks are Christians, same as my family. And I don’t care what kind of clothes you wear when you’re not working. I like you, Rachel. So why can’t we go out a few times to see if you could like me?”

  She dropped the chicken onto her plate. “I like you just fine, Jake, but I won’t court anyone who isn’t Amish or at least Mennonite. I’ll only date my own kind.”

  When the birds exited through a high open window, not a sound could be heard in the old mill. “All right,” he said after a few uncomfortable moments. “But there’s no reason we can’t be friends.” He resumed eating his lunch.

  “No reason at all. But please, no more flowers or private picnics for two. We don’t want folks getting the wrong idea.”

  “Certain
ly can’t have that.” The sarcasm shading his words changed the atmosphere inside the mill.

  Rachel spent a most uncomfortable ten minutes eating everything on her plate, as she’d been taught, while neither of them said another word until they were halfway back to the office.

  “Would you like me to put those in a coffee can of water?” Jake pointed at the flowers once they reached the house. “That way they won’t wilt before it’s time to go home.”

  “That’s a good idea. Thank you. I was wondering what to do with them for the rest of the day. I have another tour at two.”

  “They’ll be on the back porch. Don’t bother returning the coffee can. We have lots of them.” He pulled the bouquet from her hands.

  The sound of a diesel engine caught her attention. “Goodness, a bus is already at the drop-off. If that’s my tour, they’re a full hour early. What should I do?” She peered up at him.

  Jake shielded his eyes to read the inscription on the side. “Nope. That group is for me.” As they talked, occupants of the bus began to clamber down the steps. They wore dark glasses and held onto a long knotted rope as they disembarked.

  “Are those children blind?” asked Rachel in a soft voice. “What’s the rope for?”

  “The rope keeps them together so no one wanders off. Every Friday I give free riding lessons to the local school for the blind. Most of them have developed acute senses of hearing, smell, and touch so they can learn to control a horse using sounds and their knees and thighs.” He looked down at her with a small smile. “If you’ll excuse me, Rachel, I need to put these in water and greet my group.”

  But Rachel didn’t head toward the office as he expected. Instead she trailed after him. “Some of those kids don’t look older than seven or eight. Aren’t they afraid to mount so large a beast?” She marched up the porch steps practically on his heels.