Chapter Fourteen
Gabe rushed through his milking on Monday morning, his hands unsteady. Priscilla had promised to come early for the interview, but if she ran late, he’d be alone with the reporter. This interview could make or break his store’s success. He took a few deep breaths and tried to block the images flooding his mind—all the possible disasters.
As soon as he sterilized the equipment and washed up, he hurried over to bottle the milk and clean the store. In case they took interior pictures, he wanted everything spotless.
He’d asked Tim not to come in after school today. That way, the paper wouldn’t inadvertently snap any pictures of his nephew. He also didn’t want any distractions during the interview. Struggling to answer questions while hiding his attraction to Priscilla would provide enough distraction.
By midafternoon, he’d straightened all the refrigerated shelves, filed all the bills and papers, swept and mopped the floors. He stopped for a brief lunch and then went back to dusting and organizing the store shelves. Keeping his hands and mind busy helped to alleviate some of his nervousness.
A loud knock on the door startled him. The reporter was here already? Priscilla wouldn’t arrive for twenty more minutes. He whirled around. A man in a blue uniform stood outside the door. The sign said Open, so why hadn’t he come in?
As Gabe rushed to the door, the man pushed on the door and stepped inside. Gabe stopped. The gold letters on the man’s blue baseball cap spelled out FDA.
“Good afternoon. I’m Darnell Jackson from the FDA.” The man held out his badge, but Gabe was too confused to check it closely.
The FDA? That didn’t make sense. He’d been inspected when he opened, and routine inspections occurred every two years. He’d had no trouble with the FDA in Bucks County. His farm had passed every time.
Mr. Jackson unclipped a form from his clipboard. Notice of Inspection.
Gabe struggled to find words. “But—but I just had an inspection.” At least he’d cleaned the whole place today. They wouldn’t find any violations.
Mr. Jackson’s serious gaze sent fear spiraling into Gabe’s stomach. The inspector shook his head. “I’m afraid we’ve had several reports about the quality and authenticity of your products.”
“What?”
“Because many people buy camel’s milk for infants and children who can’t tolerate cow’s milk, mislabeling products can be dangerous or even deadly.”
Gabe’s mouth dried out. He’d never do that. An image of the fancy Englischer flashed through his mind. Fleurette. Had she reported him?
The inspector continued, “We’ve verified that a six-year-old girl was treated for anaphylactic shock, due to a severe milk allergy.”
“What—?”
“Anaphylaxis narrows airways and cuts off the breath. If people don’t get medication right away, it can be life-threatening.”
Gabe hadn’t been asking for a definition of anaphylactic shock. He’d read enough about milk allergies to know the symptoms. He just struggled to put his questions into full sentences. If only Priscilla were here. She’d know what to say and ask. Right now, all Gabe cared about was being sure he didn’t commit a blunder. A wrong answer might put his business in jeopardy.
A frown marred Mr. Jackson’s forehead. “Luckily, the little girl was in the doctor’s office at the time because her aunt had an appointment for a flu shot. Otherwise, she would have died.”
If she had, would I be charged with murder?
“Her family is vigilant about her diet.” The inspector tapped his pen against a line on the clipboard. “The only new food they’d introduced was camel’s milk. From your store.”
Gabe should apologize, but if he did, the inspector might think he was admitting his guilt. Yet, if his milk had caused her health issues, he should take responsibility.
Mr. Jackson gave Gabe no time to respond. Flipping through the sheaf of papers, he folded a thick pile backward over the clip. “According to the report, the little girl’s not allergic to camel’s milk. They had her tested before they bought large quantities.”
That makes sense.
The inspector swept on, reading from notes in front of him. “Her aunt also had the foresight to keep the small container of milk the child was drinking. A lab in the Philly area tested what was left.” He looked up, and his eyes bored into Gabe’s. “The only place they bought camel’s milk was from you.”
“I didn’t—”
Holding up a hand, Mr. Jackson rustled through more pages. “If you’re going to claim you didn’t sell them the milk, I’m afraid they bought it at only one place.” He produced a receipt. “This is yours, isn’t it?”
Gabe couldn’t lie. “Jah, I mean yes.”
“For further proof ”—Mr. Jackson lifted the sheet to reveal the next page—“Henry Defarge, one of your large commercial customers, let us test the few bottles he had left.”
“But he’s—” Gabe swallowed hard. He wanted to explain Henry was Fleurette’s husband. Would Mr. Jackson think that was suspicious?
After flicking through several pages, the inspector reached a sheet filled with statistics. “Here are the results.” He turned the clipboard to face Gabe. “Every one of those samples contained a percentage of cow’s milk. Some were only one-quarter camel’s milk.”
“That’s not—” Gabe choked on the word possible.
He and Tim might have accidentally mixed up one bottle if they’d run out of milk during bottling and later finished filling the bottle with the wrong milk. But they took precautions against that by bottling each kind in a separate place, and Gabe often capped partially filled bottles of camel’s milk and billed people less.
“We issued a recall for all your camel’s milk sold within the last two weeks. You should have gotten a notice.”
No, he hadn’t. Tim usually collected the mail from the box at the end of the lane on his way up to work. Had his nephew lost or dropped the letter?
“Because milk allergies can cause death, I’m afraid we’ll have to close your business until we complete the inspection and ensure you’re in compliance with all regulations.”
Gabe’s thoughts raced. All these coincidences. How likely was it that the little girl just happened to be in the doctor’s office when she drank the milk? And that Fleurette immediately sent the milk for testing? Or that her husband provided the other samples? If Gabe pointed that out and accused Fleurette of a setup, the inspector might assume Gabe was covering up his guilt.
Mr. Jackson unclipped a sign from under the stack of papers, walked over, and taped it to the door.
Gabe stood there stunned. The FDA had just closed the store. He had no idea for how long.
What was he going to do? If he couldn’t sell his milk, he’d lose his business.
* * *
Priscilla fidgeted with impatience as parents picked up their children after school. Every minute was time she could be spending with Gabe. She hoped the reporter didn’t come early.
Ada studied her. “What’s wrong? It’s not like you to be so jumpy.”
“I’m a bit nervous. I promised to help Gabe Kauffman at the camel farm with a newspaper interview.”
“Really?” The curiosity in Ada’s voice made Priscilla wish she’d kept the news to herself.
“Jah, he’s shy, and I’ve read a lot about camel’s milk, so he asked if I’d be there to answer some of the questions.”
Ada’s hmm sounded like she suspected a budding relationship. As much as Priscilla wished it were real, Gabe had made it clear his only interest was friendship. Well, except for the way their eyes met. Although, if she were honest, she might be reading more into those looks than Gabe intended.
“You look all starry-eyed.” Ada’s words snapped Priscilla from her daydream.
Priscilla shook her head. “Neh, I’m only . . .” Only what? Falling for him?
Betty Troyer’s buggy rattled into the parking lot, ending those uncomfortable thoughts and distracting Ada.
Martha scurried toward Lukas, who was examining a dead leaf. “Time to go,” she said and walked him to the buggy.
Betty’s sideways glance at Priscilla seemed to be a little less judgmental. Her brother was on the school board. Perhaps he’d told her Priscilla wasn’t guilty. If so, would she spread that rumor the way she passed around negative ones? Somehow Priscilla doubted it. Still, if Betty reduced her animosity even a fraction, it would make their encounters a little less unpleasant.
Even Ada noticed. “Is Betty softening toward you?”
“I wondered that.” Priscilla debated about telling Ada the truth. Now that Matthew had told the school board, perhaps she could confide in a few friends. She didn’t have to mention the other girl’s name, although it might cause speculation. Sooner or later someone was sure to come to the correct conclusion.
Before she could decide, Ada laid a hand on her arm. “Now that Betty’s gone, you can go. I can handle these three students.”
Priscilla shook her head. “I don’t feel right leaving you here alone.”
“I’ll be fine. It bothers me to see you so nervous.” She gave Priscilla a gentle push toward the road. “Get moving. You don’t want to be late.”
“Are you sure?” As much as Priscilla longed to hurry to the camel farm, she disliked skipping out on her job.
“I’m positive. Go on.” With a shooing motion, Ada made it clear she expected Priscilla to scurry off.
“Danke.” Priscilla tried not to appear too eager, but excitement over seeing Gabe quickened her steps.
The minute she reached home, she hitched up the horse. Mamm stopped her as she headed down the driveway.
“How late will you be working? Will you be home for supper?”
Priscilla longed to get moving, but if she didn’t answer Mamm’s questions, her mother might hold her here with a long-winded conversation. Priscilla didn’t know how long an interview might take, but to be on the safe side, she said, “I’m sure I won’t be back by suppertime.”
“I thought not.” Mamm handed her a wrapped sandwich. “I’m so glad Gabe asked you to work. Do you think—?”
“Mamm, I need to get there before four. I don’t want to be late the first day.”
“Ach, that would never do. Go on. Go on.” Her mother waved toward the street. “What are you waiting for?”
Smiling to herself at Mamm’s question, Priscilla headed off. She only nibbled at her sandwich, because nervous anticipation had tied her stomach in knots. Once she’d finished the sandwich, Butterscotch’s usual plodding soon started her rutsching on the buggy seat. Her horse seemed to be slogging through the thick blackstrap molasses Mamm used for shoofly pie.
Priscilla didn’t want to urge the horse into a trot, because if she arrived too early, Gabe would know she’d rushed there right from school, making her appear overeager. Especially not after Mamm’s supper invitation and questions on Saturday night.
When Priscilla finally pulled into the parking lot, she spied a sign taped to the window. Closed Until Further Notice.
Gabe must have posted the sign to keep the shop quiet during his interview. That might make him less anxious.
She tied up her horse and approached the door. Wait. That sign had been placed on the door by the FDA. What was going on?
Through the glass, Gabe and a man were talking, and Gabe’s face was tight with tension.
Ach, the reporter had arrived already. Ignoring the closed sign, Priscilla yanked open the door. She had to rescue Gabe.
“Priscilla?” Gabe sounded startled and less than welcoming. “I, um . . . This is Mr. Jackson. He’s . . .”
She smiled at the reporter and held out a hand. “Hello, I’m Priscilla . . .” Her words trailed off at Gabe’s frown. Had he changed his mind about having her here at the interview? She’d just barged in, assuming he wanted her to help. But his expression revealed his embarrassment. Was he uncomfortable around the reporter? Or had she caused his uneasiness?
* * *
Gabe shifted from one foot to the other. As much as he’d wished for Priscilla to appear, he now wished she weren’t here to witness his humiliation. He also needed to let her know what was happening, but he couldn’t tell her in front of the inspector.
“Mr. Jackson’s, uh, here because, well . . .” Gabe’s words tangled in his head. Explaining the whole situation was much too complicated.
“Your wife?” Mr. Jackson asked.
Priscilla met his eyes. Gabe wanted to beg her to say yes, but he couldn’t ask her to lie.
Without waiting for either of them to reply, the inspector turned to Priscilla. “As I’ve been telling your husband here, we’re closing down the business temporarily while we do an inspection. We’ve had a young girl almost die because the camel’s milk had been mixed with cow’s milk.”
“Fleurette actually hurt her own niece?” Priscilla burst out.
Mr. Jackson looked startled, then he smoothed his features into a professional mask. “We do not disclose the names of victims.”
“She’s not a victim. Well, the little girl is, but Fleurette doctored that milk.”
“Ma’am, I’m afraid that’s not the only proof. We tested many other samples of your milk.”
Despite the gravity of the conversation, Gabe repeated the words your milk to himself, picturing them as real. He’d gladly share the ownership of this business with Priscilla. Pulling his mind from that thought and all it implied—the two of them working together as a couple—Gabe concentrated on Priscilla’s reaction.
She pinched her lips shut and stared at the inspector in dismay. “You found more cow’s milk mixed with camel’s milk? How many bottles did Fleurette tamper with?”
“You’re quite mistaken. The other bottles came from one of your large commercial customers.”
“That can’t be right.” With a question in her eyes, she turned toward Gabe.
Henry Defarge, he mouthed.
“Her husband?” Priscilla faced the inspector. “The commercial business wouldn’t happen to be owned by Henry Defarge by any chance?”
Mr. Jackson’s eyes narrowed. “So you’re already aware of the problem?”
“We certainly are.” Priscilla’s tart tone revealed her annoyance. “Henry Defarge and Fleurette Moreau want to buy the camel farm. They’re working together to force Gabe out of business.”
Shaking his head, Mr. Jackson tapped on his clipboard. “Many people, when they’re confronted with an inspection, try to shift the blame or come up with wild conspiracy theories.”
“What Henry and Fleurette are doing is a conspiracy. You do know they’re married?”
The way the inspector’s eyebrows shot up, he hadn’t known, but he recovered quickly. “They have addresses in different states. She’s in Philadelphia, and he’s in New Jersey.”
Having Priscilla here had taken some of the heat off Gabe, giving him time to think. When he lived in Bucks County, he’d traveled from Philly to New Jersey to deliver milk to some customers. “It’s only across the river.” Some people had businesses in one state and lived in another.
Priscilla’s smile of approval set his heart thumping. He forced himself to look away.
She jumped in to add, “They may have different last names and live in different places, but they’re in this together. They threatened Gabe after he refused to sell his business to them.”
“I’ll note your concerns in my final report, but I’m afraid we have to continue our process.” His skeptical look indicated he didn’t believe her.
“How long will it take?” Gabe managed to ask.
“This will be a bit more involved than the usual five days or so, and the milk analysis may hold things up.” When Priscilla started to protest, he held up a finger. “We have a child who almost died. We can’t risk any other deaths.”
“I’m sorry.” The heavy weight of hurting a child rested on Gabe. He hoped and prayed it hadn’t been his mistake. Even if it hadn’t, his milk had been used, so he was still involved.
“I am too,” Priscilla said. “We both feel terrible about the little girl, but it’s not Gabe’s fault.”
The inspector shot her a disbelieving look. “We’ll see.”
But Gabe’s heart overflowed with gratitude that Priscilla believed in him.
* * *
A large van with the newspaper logo drove past the door and into the parking lot.
Ach, no. The reporters had arrived.
Priscilla had to stop them from finding out about the inspection. They’d publish this false accusation rather than the real story. If that happened, Gabe’s reputation would be damaged. Few people would trust him, even if the true story came out later.
Priscilla rushed out the door and stood blocking the sign. When the reporters approached, she held out her hand. “I’m Priscilla Ebersol. Gabe is tied up and asked me to speak to you.”
“Alyssa McDonald.” The redhead pumped her hand vigorously. “This is Jake Davis, our cameraperson. Can we go in?”
Priscilla shifted uncomfortably. “Not right now, but the camels are out in the fields,” she said to Jake. “You could take pictures of them.”
“Yeah, I’ll get some shots.” Jake walked over to the fence. “Okay if I jump this and go into the field?” he called.
“Camels can be bad-tempered,” Priscilla warned. “Don’t get too close.”
“Don’t worry,” Jake said as he hopped over the wooden barrier. “I’ll keep my distance. I’ve heard camels can be ornery. And they spit when they’re upset, so I’m using a zoom lens.” He patted his camera.
“You mind if I tape you?” Alyssa asked.
“Umm . . .” Priscilla hesitated. Would her parents object?
“I won’t publish it or share it with anyone. It’s only for me. I like to be sure I’ve quoted people correctly.”
“I guess so.” After all, Alyssa would only be taping what Priscilla had already said.
“Thanks.” Alyssa patted the small spiral notebook in her hand. “I’ve taken shorthand, so I’ll get most of it on here.”
Priscilla nodded, suddenly shy. Knowing her every word would be recorded made her nervous about giving the correct answers.
“So how long has Gabe been in business?”
The first question and already Priscilla was stumped. He’d mentioned being here a few weeks. Or had he said a few months? “He only opened here recently, but he came from Bucks County, where he had a camel farm, so he’s been doing it awhile.”
“Do you know what year he first opened?”
“I, umm, you’ll have to ask him.”
“Any idea when he’ll be free?”
Priscilla shook her head.
Alyssa turned to study the field. “Those baby camels are adorable.”
“Yes, they are. The camels on the hill there are females.” Priscilla pointed to a group of mothers and babies.
Maybe she could keep Alyssa occupied with talking about the camels. She took a step closer to show her the male but stopped. She couldn’t move around. If she did, Alyssa might see the sign.
Stepping back against the door, she gestured to the right. “See the male over there, doing a dance to attract the females?”
Alyssa laughed. “That’s universal. All males like to show off.”
Not Gabe. Priscilla almost said that aloud. And neither did her daed or most of the other men she knew. Except maybe Matthew.
“I suppose some do,” she said to Alyssa, “but it’s not the Amish way.”
“You’re supposed to be humble, aren’t you?” Alyssa turned to face Priscilla.
“Jah, we are. God does not want us to put ourselves above others.”
“Must be nice.” Alyssa sighed. “Sometimes I get sick of the rat race and all the politics at work. Everyone trying to one-up everyone else. People talking behind your back, tearing you down.”
“The Amish aren’t perfect. We have gossips too.” And people trying to tear you down. Priscilla had been through plenty of that.
“Really? I got the impression the Amish were perfect.”
Priscilla smiled. “We’re no different than anyone else. We make mistakes, we sin. We ask God and others for forgiveness.”
“I’d love to do a piece on your lifestyle sometime.” Alyssa wrote something in her notebook. “Right now, though, I need to get back to the camel farm. So, how many camels does Gabe own?”
Not another question Priscilla couldn’t answer. This interview was going poorly. She had to be honest. “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him.” She needed to get the interview onto a topic she could talk about. “If you want to know anything about the benefits of camel’s milk, I can tell you about that.”
“I did read some before I came, but I’d be happy to hear more.”
“Well, I teach at the special needs school, so I—”
“Wait,” Alyssa said, interrupting her. “You have special needs schools in the Amish community?”
“Of course.”
After jotting a quick note on a different page, Alyssa looked up. “This is so fascinating. I’m new to the area, so I look forward to finding out more about that. Would you be willing to talk to me about it?”
“Of course.” Priscilla continued, “Anyway, I’m always looking into ways to help the scholars and my brother, who’s autistic. My friend Hope has a horse therapy farm, and—”
Alyssa’s eyes lit up. “Amish hippotherapy?”
When Priscilla nodded, Alyssa flipped to the previous page. “What’s her name and address, if you know it?”
Priscilla provided the information and went on to her explanation of discovering camel’s milk. “I’d read some studies on camel’s milk and autism. I wished I could find some to try it. Then my—my, um, friend—”
Could she still consider him her friend after his betrayal?
“—he mentioned passing the camel farm, and I came right over. My brother’s been using the milk, and it’s calmed him.”
“That’s great!”
The enthusiasm oozing into Alyssa’s answer warmed Priscilla. The reporter really seemed to care.
“Once I met Gabe, we discovered we both had an interest in helping children, so I organized an event with him at Hope’s therapy farm to help those with special needs.”
Pages ruffled. “When is it?” Alyssa waited with her pen poised.
She’d write about the event? Getting newspaper coverage would help both Gabe and Hope. Priscilla told her the date.
Gesturing toward the pasture, where Jake was still snapping pictures, Alyssa said, “Why don’t we walk over there while we talk?”
Alyssa would think it odd for Priscilla to refuse. But she couldn’t move. What excuse could she give to keep standing in front of the door?