CHAPTER TWO

 

“Candy, Candy!  Fresh peppermint sticks straight from New York, and I even have the highest quality black licorice pastels from London England!”  The man spun in front of her, annoying her, as most salesmen did, and he recognized her disapproval of street vendors right away, so he stepped back and waited for her to pass

She did not. 

“Step in front of a lady.”  She rolled her glistening eyes and threw her head back. 

Her silky blonde hair was heavy, and it extended down her back to her curvy hips.  Unlike the other passersby, she hadn’t an umbrella to shield her fair complexion from the sun, and although she was trying to act a bit upper class, he knew that she was not, for all proper ladies had an umbrella on scorching hot summer days. 

Even the poorest. Raggedy ones, but they had one.

She did not.

He studied her further to see if his assumptions of a lower class were correct.  Her blue ruffled dress curved over her mature chest and clung to her tiny waist.  Like a gala dress, the dress took on a new life at the hips, sprawling out like it wanted to be twirled by a gentleman like himself.  “Am I making you angry, sweetheart?” His brow arched up, and his head titled to examine her more.  “Don’t worry; I travel the whole country, and I am from New York.  You do not impress me at all.  I know poverty when it’s hidden.  You can’t afford my candy, and I know it.  Move on, and I’m sorry that I almost tripped you.”

Her attitude took a nosedive as she sighed and looked apologetic.  “Sorry to be in your way.” A mocking tone hit her lungs, “I’m a runaway.” She pouted and then lifted her head up.  “At least I feel like it since my mother died.  I’m all alone and trying to decide whether I shall sell my farm.”

He waved his hand for her to step away.  “Nice talking to you.  Are you buying candy today or not?  There are paying customers behind you! He looked over her shoulder to view a regular wealthy customer and her mean kid. “Two of my regular customers!” 

She turned and saw a rude-looking upper class lady. She had a matching pink umbrella and was clinging to her eager-eyed little boy’s left hand.   The mean-looking kid had straight black hair that matched the long loose strands that framed his snobby-looking mother’s face. The boy looked to be around seven years old and ready for first grade.

“Sorry Ma’am; I’m Charlotte Miller, and I’ll be teaching school here in the fall.”  She smiled at the lady, but the lady didn’t smile back. 

Charlotte turned and walked onto the sidewalk in search of The General Store. She needed to pick up her teaching planner and school student list.  She also needed to get her mail from the post office.  Johnny had promised to write her when he’d gotten settled in on his makeshift camp site next to the railroad.  She couldn’t believe that he’d wanted to up and leave Nappanee for a job that might turn out to be temporary.  Sure, the money was almost double what he’d been earning at the lumberyard, but he had nowhere to go.  The only family that he knew in Sugarcreek was Linda Miller, and she didn’t like hanging around boys, for she was a natural tree-climber tomboy, and she always had been.  Would her brother ever learn?

“He was a little insulting, wasn’t he Ma’am?”  He tapped her shoulder, but she didn’t turn to acknowledge him, for she knew his voice and she knew his intentions, and she didn’t like them.

He was the neighbor. The nosey neighbor. The pest.

“Keep walking on.  How rude!”  His voice lowered, and he got her attention.

Charlotte turned; her heavy dress’s bottom gently blew sideways with the brisk but dry summer breeze, its ends tapping against his legs. “I’m sorry Mr. Yoder.  I am not feeling well.  Did you follow me to town? Looks like you were eavesdropping on my conversation with the candy man. ” Her brow winkled and she rolled her sparkling eyes. “And if you are wondering about the candy man, I am not interested in him, so don’t start any rumors.”

“Das gut! He has too much money for you anyway. He is a traveling Amish salesman.” the Yoder boy said as he took her accusation as insulting, for he thought that it was mere kind of him to look after her, to check up on her.   “I was up with the chickens doing farm chores.  Have you gathered your eggs yet?  Mother is in The General Store selling our eggs for top dollar.  This year has been our best year.  I am sorry for your chickens.”  He grimaced and then continued, “I think that your brothers need to come back to the farm.  You took the fence down from around the chicken barn. Did you see the wolf packs an hour ago? I’m sure they got your chickens.”

Charlotte grimaced and rolled her eyes. “I don’t need my bruders!” She swung her blonde hair back and then got closer to him, tears welling in the corner of her eyes.  “The chickens should be free to roam around the whole farm! I’m not going to mistreat any animal.  They are gifts from God!”

Gasps of air and laughter floated down the busy Main Street sidewalk as mingling groups of socializers looked her way; they had been eavesdropping, which was a common activity among the townspeople, especially since the Beer Salon had opened. 

“You said you’re a schoolteacher?”  The same snotty lady that had bumped her out of line at the candy man’s mobile sales cart tugged at her child’s hand and approached her.  The snickering woman looked her up and down and then looked left and right to gain acclaim from the eager crowd, and she did it extraordinarily well.  “Schoolteachers aren’t that dumb.  I think that you must be Earl Miller’s runt- that defective one that was locked inside all her life.  What disgust to the town.  Go to a home.  There are many good ones in New York!”

“New York?  She can’t afford to go to New York!  It cost fifteen percent of my budget to maintain an apartment there, and it’s a small one compared to others since I’m always on the road.”  The Candy Man yelled as he scooted his mobile sales cart down Main Street.  Actually, he wasn’t really living in that apartment. He stored candy there and had an employee or two to ship it to him. He was Old Order Amish, his home in Ohio. But he wouldn’t tell her that, for the lovely lady might–leave–her Old Order life.

“Such a beautiful woman. She looks like no runt to me,” the candy man uttered to himself as his eyes traveled back to her beautiful face. Surely she dreamed of owning an umbrella to shield her face from the sun’s hot rays.

***

 

The bright sky blue allowed the sun to shine without mercy on the bustling downtown district. Charlotte glanced toward the swirled purple and white confection that the rude candy man held up in his hand. It looked good enough to crunch against her white teeth; her mouth watered as she imagined the fruity taste of the outside and the sweet, chalky texture of the white middle of the stick of candy. 

The candy man continued his attention on the busy crowd and moved his mobile candy stand closer to The General Store, and Charlotte knew that Mr. Roberts, the store owner probably didn’t appreciate that as he sold bulk candy from large wooden barrels and finer candy from glass jars that sat on the store counter.

Charlotte wondered where this salesman had come from, and why he possessed the same accent as her. Out of the clichés of local shoppers that lined both sides of Main Street, this man spoke like her.

Like he was Amish. Gott’s people. The Plain people.

“Didn’t she inherit two farms?  That’s what Mrs. Smith just told me!” The snotty woman pointed to Mrs. Smith, who nodded in agreement.  She then added, “She can sell them and use the money to pay her room and board for the rest of her life.”  “She’ll need a job, for she can’t teach my child. She is not fit to teach.”

The snotty lady jerked her gaze back to Charlotte.  “You’re out for sure! Do you understand me little girl? You can’t teach school.  You’re not real; you’ve been hoarded up in a shack all of your life.  Teachers are ladies with the highest certifications!”

“How do I get these certifications that you talk about a teacher needing?”  Charlotte’s words sparked a chain reaction of on-lookers, and a large crowd had extended over the steps on both sides and onto the dirt street.  Sure, Charlotte had been housed up for sixteen years because of a mysterious illness, but that didn’t make her dumb. She had been raised by very smart parents. They had had an eighth grade education, but they had been thriving business owners and managers of two large farms. She would show this woman and get her training to teach schul.

“Go to Ohio!”  The Snotty Woman snapped, and then added, “Your people are there.”  She yanked her son’s arm and made her way onto the street and around the crowd.

Charlotte looked at the candy man and asked, “Could I survive in Ohio?  I have no relatives there, but I know that there are people of the same faith as me in Walnut Creek.” She was curious as to whether he would admit to being like her. Was he Amish? His dress did not look Amish, but his accent was like hers.

But his mind was on money. “It’s also expensive.  You don’t even have weather protection, how are you going to pay an escort to drive you there?”  The candy man shook his head and grabbed a lavender stick of candy and extended it to her.  “Take this candy.  It’s broken so I can’t sell it. I am sorry for the loss of your chickens.”

“I shall hurry back to my farm.  I don’t want the candy,” Charlotte politely denied the free offer and stepped down the sidewalk in search of her buggy. 

As she climbed up into the black open buggy, she had to wonder about the candy man. Did his bishop allow him to get an apartment in New York? If so, why? There were plenty of customers in Indiana. Charlotte clicked at the horses and drove the buggy out of town, the water of embarrassment and pain flowing freely down her face and over her pale skin.  She’d already taken the Teacher’s Certification, and in fact, she’d scored a perfect 100 percent on it just like the tests that her mother had always given her. She was hiding the fact because the snotty lady would surely give her trouble.  But, she shouldn’t have hidden the truth. There had been a desire to fit in.

To be accepted. To not be as she had been for sixteen years.

Alone.

How could she teach in a town that found her to be incapable of running not just one farm, but two sprawling two-hundred acre farms: one was where she lived, and one was her neighbor’s farm, not the noisy neighbor that was watching her and reporting all of her activities back to her eldest brother Samuel, but the quiet, reserved one that seemed to work silently in his field. 

The quiet neighbor had a tall statue and the calmest silver hair.  He spoke very little, and he kept deep tabs on his two sons.  Being a widower, he’d settled in from the West, and none of the townspeople had ever made friends with him, for he’d never offered a cup of tea or a free dinner to anyone.  Charlotte often wondered about this reserved man, and she would gaze out the upstairs bedroom window on snowy days to watch him help her daed shovel their way to the barns.  Her father had always returned the polite gesture and had helped him shovel paths to his barns. 

Her dry mouth tasted fear, and not of the approaching storm, for she now knew what it felt like to feel the rain drops against your skin, their coolness and refreshing ability to calm a stressed soul.  Why had her parents complained about the storms so much?  She wiggled her brow and slacked up on the horses.  The team cheerfully trotted along the dirt road.  She looked up and felt the rain drops melt into her white skin, and she thought that it felt much better than the scorching heat wave that Bloomington had been having. 

She thought that maybe her parents took the storm’s wind, rain sprouts, and smelly earth for granted, whereas she’d dreamed of experiencing them.  When one stands on the outside looking in ever since they learn to walk, they still can’t believe that they are really in the storm.  It’s like a dream that’s too good to be true, even after you feel the rain, and it saturates your hair and runs down your back, and you taste the flowing waterfall on the tip of your tongue, it’s not real.  She doubted that it would ever become real, or whether her teaching school would become a reality. 

Reality needed to be her helping others like her mamm had helped her, the patience, the watchful eye, and most of all, the excitement when those that you’re teaching learn something new or master a new skill.  That’s what Charlotte Miller wanted in life, and actually, that’s all she needed.

The house, the dog, and the children: she didn’t need any of it.  She wanted to work long hours grading first grade papers, or stay after school to tutor the slower learners like she had been at homeschool.  If that snotty lady would knock her out of teaching school in Bloomington, she’d let the whole school board know of a secret…one that only she knew, and one that she saw all from her bedroom window.