Two customers remained in the bakery, a woman and a man separated by two tables and lost in their own worlds. Outside the street traffic had slowed down, and the bell over the door had been silent for ten minutes.
“So let’s have this out about Duane,” Laura said, pinning Susan in her place behind the counter with a sharp look.
“I don’t want to go,” Susan said, her face resolute.
“What exactly did Duane ask? Perhaps we should start there.”
Susan was silent for a moment, thinking back over those few moments. “Well, he said that if I could leave over the lunch hour, he’d take me to the diner across the street. And that it wouldn’t take very long.”
“And you said what?”
“That we’re usually busy over the lunch hour, and that I couldn’t go.”
“Is that all?”
Susan shrugged before continuing, “He said if I changed my mind I should call him between eleven and twelve. That you know his phone number.”
“Yes, I do. And I think you should call him and go,” Laura said. “That is, unless you really don’t want to. I don’t want to force you into something you don’t want to do.”
Susan’s eyes grew wide. “What does it mean in the Englisha world when a man asks you out to the diner over the lunch hour?” she asked. “How serious is that?”
“You poor thing.” Laura patted Susan on the hand. “I guess you wouldn’t know. It’s not serious at all. Just indicates an interest—a start perhaps, but nothing really. You don’t have to worry. And Duane is an outstanding young man. He doesn’t come to our church, but he does go. I can’t remember where. I’m sure that’s important to you.”
“It is,” Susan said. “I suppose he has the bishop’s approval on his life.”
Laura looked startled for a moment and then burst out laughing. “You do have a sense of humor. It’s kind of sudden at times, but it’s there nonetheless.”
Susan looked puzzled but continued the conversation. “I just don’t know. Mr. Moran is kind of nice, but it’s so sudden.”
“That’s understandable, dear. But don’t expect Duane to give up easily—not if I know him.”
Susan took a deep breath and said, “Okay, I’ll go then.” Is this a mistake? she wondered. She did want to go, but she also didn’t want to go. What a mess to be in. And it was so strange. That was the problem, no doubt. The strangeness of everything. Surely life would get easier, when things weren’t so odd. And she simply couldn’t stay cooped up in the apartment for the rest of her life. Thomas was in the past, and life must move on. This must be part of moving on.
Laura had a big smile on her face. “I think that’s the right choice, dear. You just take it slow and easy. I know Duane won’t push things. If he does, you come tell me, and I’ll have a talk with him.”
“You sound so serious,” Susan said. “Like a lot of things are going to happen between us.”
“I guess I do.” Laura shook her head. “And that’s really wrong of me. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push.”
“It’s okay,” Susan said. She glanced at the clock on the far wall. “Mr. Moran said to call between eleven and twelve. Will you do that for me? See if he still wants to…to take me out?”
“I could, but why don’t you call him, dear? It would give you practice with our world. If the man invites you to lunch and told you to call him at his office, then you have the right to. Remember now, you don’t have to feel intimidated at all.”
“Me call him? He’s a tax person. And the building he works in—it’s all glittery and glitzy.”
Laura laughed. “He’s also a man, Susan. Just remember that. A man—and a good one. Don’t be afraid of our Englisha ways.”
The door opened, and Susan glanced again at the clock. Could she really do this? Call Mr. Moran? The thought was freezing her throat like homemade ice cream did when swallowed too quickly. Even the sweetness of the thought didn’t take away the fear.
Susan busied herself with the customer, but kept an eye on the clock, noting the time advancing. With each tick her stomach twisted into a larger and larger knot. There was still time to back out. She didn’t have to make the call. But she wanted to. That was the problem. Hopefully another customer would come through the door soon and keep her attention off the clock. But really, she was making way too big a deal out of this. It was nothing, really. It was like a smile between a girl and boy back at the Amish Sunday night hymn singing. They could be friends or just like each other’s company.
The door opened and she waited on the young couple who entered, watching them as they chose a table. They laughed softly over the murmur of each other’s words. Perhaps he had asked her out today, to meet him at Laura’s bakery for a few quick moments. If he had, it seemed to be working fine. Susan glanced at the clock again. It was past eleven. She took a deep breath and walked back to Laura’s office.
“Will you give me Mr. Moran’s phone number?” Susan asked, trying to keep her breathing even. Why is this so hard? I’ve used the phone in the phone shack at home many times. But this is like…well, this is totally something else. I’ve never called a tax person who wanted to take me out to eat.
“Right here,” Laura said, showing her the number. “Take your time. I’ll take care of the shop.”
Susan waited until Laura left and closed the door before she dialed. She listened to the ringing of the phone in her ear.
“H&R Block, Mandy speaking,” a woman’s voice said. “How may I help you?”
“Ah…” Susan cleared her throat. “I need to speak with Mr. Moran.” Apparently he didn’t answer his own phone. But of course he wouldn’t. He was a tax person. There were secretaries who worked for tax people.
“Just a moment,” Mandy said. The phone clicked.
Susan clutched the receiver and waited.
Suddenly he was there. “This is Duane Moran.”
“Ah, Mr. Moran,” she managed.
He laughed. “Hello, Susan. Duane is fine. Have you changed your mind about lunch, I hope?”
“If you still want to take me. Laura said she would take care of the shop.”
“Always a darling, Laura is,” he said. “How about twelve sharp? Will that work for you?”
“Yes, certainly. At the diner? Shall I meet you there?”
“I’ll save a booth by the window, okay? And, Susan…”
“Yes.”
“I’m glad you can come.”
“Yes. Well, thanks. I’ll see you then.”
“Goodbye,” he said.
“Goodbye.” She pressed the receiver against her chest, feeling the redness move all the way up to her cheeks. She had made the call! Who would have thought such a thing possible just a few months ago? She, Susan Hostetler, had just called a gut-looking Englisha tax person to accept a lunch invitation. That was enough to make even the cows standing in the fields at home blink in astonishment!
Susan cracked open the door and glanced out. The line was lengthy in front of the counter. There was nothing like work to soothe jittery nerves! Stepping up beside Laura, she waited on customers.
“What time?” Laura whispered as she got an order together.
“Twelve sharp,” Susan answered as she continued working, the line becoming even longer.
“I shouldn’t be going,” Susan whispered. “We’re getting really busy.”
Is there still time to call Duane and explain? raced through her mind.
Laura didn’t answer but kept working, moving deftly between the pastries and the cash register. Finally at five minutes before twelve, Laura said, “You better go now.”
“But the line?” Susan said, almost moaning.
“Go!” Laura’s voice was firm. “I’ve been busy before. This is not new to me.”
Susan wiped her hands and took off her apron as customers glanced at her. She walked past them, ignoring their looks.
Yah, she thought about saying out loud. I’m going to see an Englisha man for lunch. Just stare at me. As if I don’t feel bad enough already—and guilty.
Outside, the noise of the noonday traffic swept over her. As she made her way down one block to cross at the light, she broke out in a nervous smile as she once again thought that here she was, Susan Hostetler, going to have lunch with an Englisha man.
A few people were standing at the light. She got in line, looking with them across the street to the traffic signal. Finally the little white man in the black box signaled Walk. The waiting pedestrians surged forward, Susan moving too. In the rush and the crowd, Susan suddenly lurched as something caught at her foot, wrenching her shoe and sending her in a forward fall. Her hands went out to break the spill, the impact solid on the palms of her hands, the pain stinging all the way up to her shoulders. A groan escaped in protest against the pain before she stifled the cry, clamping her lips together. A woman stopped and asked if she was okay. She quickly nodded, embarrassed by the fall. She stood up and, with an upward glance, saw the little man in the traffic box turning red and holding out his hand. The signal had changed, and soon automobiles would come crashing her way.
But her left shoe! It had come off and now lay five feet away, tipped over, the low heel broken off. The waiting cars, their fierce-looking grills staring at her, were ready to claim their rightful place in the intersection. She’d have to leave the shoe and move to the curb. It was ruined anyway. As she reached the curb, she turned to see the cars were already moving through the crosswalk. A large blue van ran directly over her abandoned shoe, squashing it into a flat piece of black in the middle of the street.
Susan took a step forward on the sidewalk, feeling the up and down motion of her hips. At least she could walk, and she didn’t have far to go. Great! What would Mr. Moran think when she came limping into the diner, one foot wearing only a sock. A true country hick, no doubt. One who couldn’t even walk from the bakery to the diner without losing her shoe. “He’ll have to think what he wants. He’s the one who asked me to come,” she said aloud. She continued to walk, trying to minimize the up-and-down motion. Thankfully, nobody around her seemed to care.
So where is that diner! Yah, right over there, a block ahead. One thing was for sure, that tumble had cleared her head. It felt as clean as a cloudless sky in the middle of a summer hayfield.