Posen, Michigan
Present day
Faith Pinkham peeked through the round window separating the kitchen from the eating area of The Amish Table and cringed at the large lunch crowd. Many of the tables hadn’t been cleared since the breakfast surge and her older sister, Olivia, had her hands full taking new orders. Faith glanced over her shoulder at the pot of broccoli-and-cheese soup simmering on the stove. If she hurried, she could clean off a few tables before Olivia turned in the next order. Wiping her hands on her apron, she pushed the swinging double doors open with her hip.
Mrs. Meyer, one of their regular customers, shot up a quick wave from a back table. The retiree from downstate had bought a house on a nearby acre lot two years ago and had been busy planting gardens ever since. When it came to growing tea roses, Faith had never known anyone to have a green thumb like Mrs. Meyer. Tea roses are tender and prone to disease, but her bushes were lively and massive and fragrant.
Faith strode to the back of the dining area and stopped at the garden lady’s table to say a quick hello before cleaning off the empty table next to Mrs. Meyer. “How are you today?”
“Doing just peachy, sweetie. Do they have you working in the kitchen?”
“Jah, I’m cooking.” And cleaning tables.
“You poor thing. It must be blazing hot over the stove.” She added a splash of cream to her coffee.
Faith smiled. The large fans in the kitchen helped exhaust the heat, but on days like today, she looked forward to soaking her feet in the creek after work. She stepped to the recently vacated table next to the window and began stacking dirty plates. Olivia had grabbed the tip off the table without taking any of the dishes away.
Mrs. Meyer stirred her coffee. “Are you doing anything special for the Fourth of July?”
“You mean other than work?” Faith chuckled. “Probably nett.” The Amish only celebrated Thanksgiving, Christmas, Second Christmas, and Easter, but not many Englischers knew that.
Mrs. Meyer had an inquisitive soul. Since moving to northern Michigan, she’d shown more interest in the Amish lifestyle than most people who lived in Posen all their lives. Although Faith didn’t mind answering the friendly woman’s questions, she didn’t volunteer anything more. If Mrs. Meyer knew about Faith starting baptism classes, she would have a slew of questions. Questions Faith wouldn’t feel comfortable answering.
Faith repositioned the chairs. She would come back to wash the table, restock the condiments, and replace the paper place mats and napkin-wrapped utensils. She glanced at Mrs. Meyer sipping her coffee. “Can I get you anything? More coffee?”
“I have everything I need, sweetie.”
“New order,” Olivia announced, waving the carbon-copied slip on her way into the kitchen as if it were a flag.
Faith groaned under her breath. Several more tables needed to be cleaned off. Too bad it was her cousin Catherine’s day off. Admittedly, Catherine was a better cook than all of them, except for Mamm. But then, her older cousin had worked over fifteen years at the restaurant, and over time Mamm had taught her everything. Olivia often voiced to Faith how it wasn’t fair that Mamm gave their cousin the prime shifts, but Olivia was annoyed about everything lately—everything Amish, that is.
Faith positioned the dirty mugs and silverware on top of the plates. “I’ll see you next week, Mrs. Meyer.” She picked up the stack. “I want to hear about your roses when there’s more time to talk.”
“Don’t work too hard in the kitchen,” the woman said.
Faith wished that was an option, but people came from all over to eat an authentic Amish meal. As she headed to the kitchen, the tiny bell over the door jingled, announcing yet another customer. She liked staying busy, but at this rate, her feet would be too swollen to get her shoes off for wading through the creek. “Take a seat wherever you like,” she called out, keeping her eye on the teetering mug atop her pile.
A man cleared his throat behind her. “I’m here to deliver the cherries your mamm ordered, nett eat.”
Faith glanced up and smiled. “Hiya, Gideon.” He’d been so busy lately that today was the first she’d seen of him since Sunday service.
He lifted the gallon-sized ice-cream pails now heaped with bright-red cherries. “I knocked on the kitchen door, but no one answered. Is your mamm here?”
“She’s running errands.” Faith moved cautiously toward the kitchen, focusing again on the wobbling mugs, then paused long enough at the double door to bob her head for Gideon to follow. Faith bumped the door with her hip and proceeded to the sink area where mounds of dirty dishes littered the counter. Their restaurant didn’t have a fancy electric dishwasher. Her hands had remained chapped since she finished school after eighth grade and started working full-time almost four years ago with her mother, older sister, and cousin.
“Looks like you’ve been busy today,” Gideon said, his gaze taking in the disarray.
Faith’s face heated. When her mother or Catherine ran the kitchen, it never looked this unorganized. “It’s just been Olivia and me all morning, so we haven’t had time to catch up.”
Olivia stood at the drink dispenser, filling glasses with ice. “Did you hear me say you have an order?”
“Jah.” Faith maintained a cheerful tone. First she had to find a bare surface for these dishes. Her arms grew weaker under the weight and a mug toppled over, spilling cold coffee down her arm.
Gideon swiped a pillar of unwashed plates off the counter, clearing an empty space.
Olivia balanced a large tray of water glasses and steaming mugs on her shoulder. “I told them you’d put a rush on the order. They’re in a hurry.” She came around the corner and smiled when her gaze landed on Gideon. “I didn’t see you kumm in, Gideon. How are you?”
“Fine.”
Olivia backed into the door, butting it open with her hip. “Gut to hear.” She sprang out the door, leaving it to flap in her wake.
A baffled expression overtook Gideon’s face.
Faith imagined he was taken aback by Olivia’s aloofness but was too polite to mention it. She strode to the counter and unclipped the order slip suspended on the wire above her. Six omelets. All different. And a half dozen sides of potato pancakes. How was she supposed to rush this? She had used the last of the diced vegetables on the last order and was running low on grated potatoes.
“Does everyone have to be in a hurry today?” Faith grumbled.
“I guess I’m nett—in a hurry.” Gideon lifted the dirty dishes he’d picked up to make room a little higher.
“Ach, Gideon. Why didn’t you say something?” She tossed the slip on the counter and dashed over to the dishwashing area. After carefully piling one stack on top of another, she cleared a spot. “You can leave them here.”
He set down the plates, then immediately rolled up his sleeves.
Faith watched in disbelief. “What are you doing?”
“Well, I’m nett much of a cook.” He worked on rolling up the other sleeve. “But I do know how to wash dishes.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.” He plugged the stainless-steel basin with a stopper, turned the hot-water tap on, then squirted in some dish soap.
“I don’t want to keep you from your cherry deliveries.”
“You’re nett.” He smiled.
Faith’s insides fluttered. She’d never shared kitchen duty with a man. “Danki, but you can leave them soaking. Once mei mamm returns from the market, she’ll relieve me from cooking, and I’ll have time to catch up on the dishes.”
Gideon motioned to the stove. “You should probably get started on that order.” He dipped his hands into the soapy water, glanced sideways at her, and winked. “Aren’t they in a hurry?”
“Ah, jah, that’s right.” Faith spun around and scurried over to the prep sink where she lathered her hands with soap. The oddity of a man with his sleeves rolled up past his elbows while not delivering a calf, but washing dishes, was a bit disturbing. In a good way.
She stole a glance over her shoulder at Gideon and sighed. Strong, kind, handsome, hardworking, he had all the traits of a good husband—for her sister, Olivia, if only she would show him a little interest. The man used every excuse possible to conjure up ways to be around her sister. Last month, when it came time for her family to host the Sunday meeting, Gideon volunteered to help her father muck the barn and set up the benches for the service. He even washed dishes today to see Olivia. Faith sighed. Her sister was blessed with creamy skin, blond silky hair, and enough smarts to teach school, yet she was dim-witted when it came to Gideon. Faith had known him her whole life, not that he ever paid much attention to her. She was Olivia’s kid sister—lanky, grease-clogged pores from working over the fryer, and dark, coarse hair that tended to frizz in the summer—nothing more.
Faith turned off the tap water and dried her hands. Too much daydreaming had slowed her pace. She slid the refrigerator door open and removed the onions, mushrooms, green peppers, spinach, and tomatoes for one omelet; sausage, goat cheese, and jalapeños for another. Some naturally took longer to make because she had to fry the bacon and brown the ham. Not to mention one person wanted egg whites only, and that took more time.
A few feet away, Gideon hummed “Das Loblied” as he worked, an added treat to Faith’s ears. Recognizing the tune as one of their Amish hymns, she hummed along while dicing vegetables. Once this order was filled, she would make him something special to eat for all his hard work. Since it was almost noon, maybe a cheeseburger. She stole another peek at him working, his head bobbing to the tune. She could get used to his help in the kitchen.
Stop it! Gideon was her sister’s bu—even if Olivia hadn’t shown interest in settling down and joining the church yet. Eventually her sister would come to see Gideon for the man he was. A good man. A patient man. A man . . . who would wait for Olivia to finish her rumspringa and join the church fold.
A flash of jealousy bubbled up within Faith.