LEAH PULLED UP AT THE FURNITURE STORE AND PARKED the buggy in a designated space. She carefully retrieved the tomato pie. She’d never felt as proud of anything she’d done in the kitchen as she did this pie. Again she wondered if Aaron would kiss her.
She wondered if Aaron’s father and Abner were here or if they’d already left to tend to the fields.
The bell chimed when she walked in. She spotted Aaron right away. He was so tall, his head rose higher than the shelves on one side of the store; it looked like his hat was just bouncing along the aisle. When he rounded the corner, Aaron tipped his hat back, but he didn’t look as happy to see her as she’d hoped.
“Hi. I brought you this.” Leah handed him the pie, then bounced on her toes a few times, beaming from ear to ear. “I made this all by myself. Tomato pie.”
“Danki.” Aaron set the pie down on the counter next to a sales log and a cup full of pens. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I—I wanted to,” she said as he turned his back to her and walked around the counter to the other side. “Do you want to try a piece now?”
Aaron lowered his head and began writing numbers on the log. “I can’t right now, Leah. I’m busy.”
She glanced around the shop. “But there’s no one here.”
He looked up from the log he’d been focused on. “I still have things to do. I have responsibilities around here. Daed and Abner have already left to go work in the fields.”
“So we’re alone.” It was much too bold a statement, and she wished right away that she hadn’t spoken the words aloud.
“Ya.” Aaron picked up a box on the counter, walked to a shelf, and started unloading the items inside.
Leah’s pulse quickened. What was going on? She walked to where he was squatting on the ground.
“Aaron, are you angry with me about something?”
He looked up at her, but his smile seemed hard, his eyes cold. “No. Why?”
“You—you just seem, I don’t know . . . different.”
“I’m just busy,” he said with a shrug.
Leah waited a few moments to see if he’d finish what he was doing and resume the conversation, but he stayed quiet. She took a deep breath.
“Do you want to go on another picnic Saturday? I’m sure mei daed would let me, and—”
“I’m sure he would,” Aaron grumbled.
“What?”
“Nothing, Leah.” He stood, picked up the empty box, and walked back to the counter. “I’m sorry. I can’t go on a picnic Saturday.”
“Working in the fields?” Any bounce Leah had had in her step earlier was completely gone.
“Uh, ya. I have to work in the fields.”
You’re lying. “Well, Sunday there isn’t any church service. Maybe we—”
“I’ll let you know when I’m not busy anymore.”
He turned and walked to the back of the building, and Leah wished she’d never allowed herself to feel anything at all for Aaron Lantz. She should have stayed focused on writing her stories, something that made her feel good.
As her bottom lip began to quiver, she ran out the door.
Aaron walked to the front of the store and watched Leah through the large glass pane in the front of the shop. When she swiped at teary eyes, he whispered her name. He wanted to go to her, but what was the point? She probably forced herself to make the pie as an excuse to bring it to him, which got her out of the house for the day to go do whatever she really wanted to do.
He pulled his hat off and raked a hand through his hair, then blew out an exasperated sigh. He should have known better than to pursue Leah. He didn’t want to live on chicken salad the rest of his life anyway. Aaron glanced at the pie. Or tomato pie.
But the ache in his heart defied his thoughts as he watched her drive her buggy out of the parking lot.
Leah allowed herself a good cry on the way home. Aaron’s face kept flashing before her—his cold expression, the glassy stare. Not the same person as yesterday. She thought about how hard she’d worked to get the tomato pie just right and how good it felt to make the pie for him.
To make matters worse, she stopped at the bakery where Donna worked and asked her about leaving the book at Paradiso. She’d hoped her friend would apologize for being so careless, but Donna didn’t seem to think it was of much importance. She just shrugged and said she didn’t have time to read. Leah left the bakery with hurt feelings, wondering if her father had been right about the dangers of spending too much time with those unequally yoked.
Her thoughts drifted back to Aaron. If she hadn’t allowed herself to get close to him, she wouldn’t know what she was missing. In the stories she wrote, she could control every little detail and ensure a happy ending. Not the case in real life. She’d had a change of heart about her life and the possibility of something more with Aaron. What a mistake.
She crossed Lincoln Highway and headed toward home. On the way she passed Aaron’s cousin’s farm, and she could see the pond and the pier from the road. Memories of the playful time they’d had, their kisses, and their long talks swirled in her head, and anger began to build. Why would Aaron give her flowers and treat her with such kindness yesterday, only to turn on her today?
Leah pulled into her driveway, parked the buggy, then sat in a rocker on the front porch. She wasn’t ready to see anyone just yet. She kicked off her shoes, pulled off her socks, then pushed the chair into motion. Her father was on the plow behind the mules, getting the fields ready for harvest, and she knew he’d be heading this way for supper soon. Leah could hear her mother and Kathleen scurrying around in the kitchen.
Sighing, she leaned her head back against the back of the rocker and fought the urge to cry again. She didn’t even feel like writing. Anger tugged at her even more. Not only had Aaron played with her emotions, but now she wasn’t even inclined to work on her stories. Daed would be happy about that.
Supper was one of those meals where Edna and Mary Carol dominated the conversation with talk of their upcoming weddings, which only added to Leah’s state of mind.
“Leah, I’d like to talk to you.” Daed wiped his mouth with his napkin, and Leah’s sisters all searched their father’s face right along with Leah.
“Okay,” she responded, then sighed. What did I do now? She finished off her tea, then rose from the table when her father did. She followed him onto the front porch, thinking it must be something really bad if he didn’t want to scold her in front of everyone else.
“Let’s take a walk.” Daed walked down the porch steps, and Leah joined him.
“Daed, I got up extra early to do my chores. I didn’t leave to go see Aaron until after everything was done. Mamm said she thought you wouldn’t mind.”
His face was solemn, his mouth drawn into a frown. “I know, Leah.” He looped his thumbs in his suspenders and kept his eyes toward the ground in front of him.
Leah’s heart was beating out of her chest. She couldn’t recall her father ever asking her to take a walk with him before. They passed the barn and went to Mary Carol’s garden, where there was a bench underneath a shade tree. Leah could smell the wisteria growing along the barbed wire fence off to her right, the sweet fragrance doing little to calm her nerves. A gentle breeze swept across her face.
This was one of her favorite places to write her stories. From this spot, she could see across the meadow to where the cows were grazing near the pond, and butterflies seemed to enjoy this place as much as she. She scanned the wide-open fields as the feel of the plush grass wrapped around her toes.
Daed sat down and motioned for Leah to do the same. He took a deep breath, then turned to face her. “I read your book.”
“What?”
“The one with Rose and the girl Lauren.”
“But how did you—”
“Ruth brought it to me. She said she’d read it, and she thought I should read it too.” He raised his brows. “And I did.”
Leah’s chest hurt from the pressure. His expression was impossible to read, and while he didn’t look angry, the wrinkles in his forehead had grown more defined as he spoke.
He pulled off his hat and set it on his lap, then wiped the sweat from his brow. “You have a gift, Leah,” he began.
She felt the pressure in her chest lift just a little.
“And for me not to encourage you to use that gift as a way to reach those in search of the Lord . . .” He shook his head. “I reckon it would be wrong.”
Leah tried to absorb what he was saying.
“It’s not normally our way to minister to others, but after readin’ your story, it seems to me that the Lord is working through you, and to keep you from doing His work would be a sin.” He looked away from her and stared at the ground, twirling his hat in his hands. “You have my blessing to pen your tales, as long as you keep up with your share of the chores around the haus.” He faced her again, sighed, and said, “I reckon everyone ain’t meant to be a perfect cook, seamstress, and housekeeper. But if you plan to keep seeing that boy, you might want to at least work on those things just a little.” He grinned.
Her father’s words had lifted her up so much that she’d momentarily forgotten about Aaron. Afraid of crying, she just nodded.
He stood up, put his hat on, and started to walk away. Leah sat there. She needed to think.
“Leah?”
She looked up when she heard her name. Her father was looking back at her.
“I love you.”
He turned around and hurried across the yard before Leah could say anything. James Petersheim was a man of few words, and he had never spoken those three words directly to Leah.
It was impossible to choke back the tears.