JOHN WOKE TO a strange squawking sound that rang through the house and forced him reluctantly upright in his bed. He glanced at the clock, saw that it had gone five o’clock, and rubbed his eyes tiredly. Then his door burst open and Frau Mast, a wizened, toothless widow, appeared like some deranged apparition. He rubbed at his eyes once more. Then Matt appeared beside Frau Mast, his hair on end and his shirt undone.
“What is going on?” John asked finally as the old woman squawked again.
“There be a bat in this haus, and I cannot abide bats, John Miller,” Frau Mast cackled.
“A—bat?”
“Ya! I be trying to make your breakfast and there it came, right over my head, swooping and swirling—get up, buwe, and do something about it!”
John slid to his feet, careless of the fact that he wore no shirt or socks. “Matt, could you—”
Matthew held up protesting hands. “You know I cannot stand bats, John, not since I got bit by that one lying on the buggy seat. I thought it was a candy bar in the dark and took a lot of pain for my troubles—rabies shots—bite marks—Mamm hollering—”
Matt and Frau Mast suddenly cried out in unison as John saw the bat flap past them in the hall.
“All right,” John sighed, reaching for a shirt. “Matt, at least go fetch me a fishing net and take Frau Mast downstairs.”
He shook his head as the two bat haters fled, leaving him alone to deal with the poor monster.
Tabitha hurried to brew some peppermint tea for Aenti Elizabeth, who said she hadn’t slept well.
“Should we visit a doctor?” Tabitha asked worriedly as she noticed her aenti’s pallor in the dawning light of the cheerful kitchen.
“Nee, child. I’m fine, truly. Now tell me what you’re planning on making for John Miller at lunch today.”
Tabitha sighed, knowing it was a tempting distraction her aunt offered from discussing her health, but Tabitha promised herself that she’d get Aenti Beth to a doctor or at least the local healer soon.
“Well, I thought of noodles with buttered crumbs and creamed peas and potatoes and an apple pie.”
To Tabitha’s surprise, her aenti frowned briefly. “Everything sounds gut but the pie, dear. You know, the first dish can be heavy, so why not balance out dessert with—say, soft ginger cookies with an orange glaze?”
Tabitha smiled. “Mmmm, now you’re making me hungry! I’ll have to run over to the Loftus’s store to get some powdered sugar for the glaze though.”
“Well, I’ll feed Fram when he kummes down and suggest he goes fishing again.”
“Are you sure you feel up to it?” Tabitha asked.
“Ya, run along. You know Chester Loftus opens at the crack of dawn.”
Tabitha bent and kissed her aenti, then did as she was told, her mind filled with thoughts of ginger and orange and how the delicious cookies might be received by John.
John had managed to get the bat outside after a frustrating two hours. Feeling hot, tired, and irritable, he skipped breakfast, despite Frau Mast’s efforts. He escaped to the wood shop and was half glad when he saw the old woman drive her buggy away.
“Is it gone?” Matt asked, suddenly appearing from the direction of the barn.
John looked up from the business book, where he was studying an order for a table and chairs. “Are you referring to Frau Mast?”
Matt laughed. “Nee, the bat—though they both might be the same except one makes excellent bacon.”
“Nice. But I’m afraid your very real bat came from a sleeping colony in the attic.”
“What?” Matt looked appalled.
“Yep. I found a small hole near the window up there where they’ve gotten in. I’m surprised we haven’t heard them moving about more.” John was amused to actually see his bruder pale a bit.
“What are we going to do?”
“Seal up the hole tonight when the colony leaves for their feeding. They’ll find somewhere else to roost.”
Matt held up his hands in protest. “Not me, bruder. I am not going anywhere near a bat colony.”
“Ya, you are—that hole repair is a two-man job.”
“We—we’ve got to geh see Daed.”
John shook his head. “Boppli. . . all right, I’ll do it myself. You can ride in and check on Daed. But you get to clean up the droppings tomorrow when they’re gone.”
“Bat . . . droppings?”
“Ya. Now let’s start on this table.”
John hid a smile as Matt began to work, for once quiet and clearly concerned.
Tabitha decided to take the buggy to the store rather than walk. She filled a bucket and gave Swopes a drink before starting out for Loftus’s. She got up into the buggy and swung Swopes out onto the drive and down toward the main road that led to town. It was a cloudy but comfortable morning. A light wind caressed her face as she hawed the horse to reach a trotting gait. The road was not busy save for a stray, colorful English vehicle zipping by, but they were respectful enough today and kept their distance from the buggy. Some days, though, she felt her heart up in her throat when a car would cut in unexpectedly. She thought back to the near miss with the van when she was with John. “John has good horse sense,” she murmured aloud fondly. She thought back to the tension in the muscles of his forearm as he had steadied the reins. A car passed by and jolted her out of her developing daydream.
She resolved to focus on the road, and before long she and Swopes had arrived at the store. She urged Swopes off the road and over toward the hitching posts, reining the horse to a stop neatly in place outside the front of the store.
“That’s how we do it, Swopesy,” she said to the horse as she tied the reins neatly to the post.
The store was a large, barnlike structure at least a hundred years old, with wooden planks aged a light grey. There was a sign with the words “Loftus General Merchandise” painted in fancy yellow block script just under the roof and above the entrance. She wondered who Chester Loftus, the owner of the store, had contracted with to make the sign. It was by far the fanciest thing about the building. The rest of the structure looked its age and could have used a good painting, she thought.
As she entered, the smell of spices and cedar wood greeted her. She gazed around with comfort at the familiar surroundings: rustic shelving lined with dry goods mostly in clear plastic bags with white typed labels, funnel cake mix, trail mixes, nuts, dried fruits, sesame sticks, spiced pretzels, noodles, baking mixes, flours, clear gel, baking powder, cornmeal, baking soda, salts, maple syrup—from the small glass jars in maple leaf shapes all the way up to milk gallons full, raw honey, a sign for raw milk, candies and homemade fudge, homemade scented candles, a whole section of homemade salves, tinctures, and a wall full of dry goods to boot.
She liked shopping here both for the quality of the goods and for the good nature of the owner. The store had a welcoming feel, mainly because Chester Loftus made it his mission to make his customers feel welcome. She spied him ringing up some bolts of cloth for Frau King and her daughter, Miriam. Above the ladies’ heads was a sign affixed to the ceiling with two thin metal chains. The sign read “Cashier,” which to Tabitha seemed completely superfluous, because from just about any vantage point in the store, you could see the huge metal register at which Chester now worked.
“Hello, ladies,” Tabitha observed. “My, that’s a pretty shade of blue.” She reached over to one of the bolts on the counter, rubbing it between her thumb and forefinger. “It’s got a good feel to it too.”
“I get my fabric from a good English supplier down in Lancaster,” said Chester. “Brings me good quality at a fair price.”
“Mamm and I are making some dresses and shirts,” Miriam chimed in. “What would you call this blue, Tabitha? I say sky blue, but Mamm says just plain blue.”
“Hmm.” Tabitha mused. “It’s somewhere in between I think, but I would have to agree with Miriam,” she said, addressing the mother. “There’s some very light airiness in the mix here.”
“Yup,” Chester agreed. “Sky blue it is, said so on the bolt tag. And it’ll make a pretty dress, but I’m not sure a man’d like it for a shirt. Maybe a Sunday shirt though.”
“We’ll have to see, Chester,” Frau King said, ending the conversation. “Nice to see you, Tabitha. Tell Elizabeth that we said hello.”
“I surely will,” she replied graciously, grateful that neither woman had made any reference to her courting—in any context.
“What’ll it be for you, Miss Tabitha?” Chester asked. “Would you like some of my fabric here, or are you up to some of that good cookin’ I hear about that comes from the Beiler kitchens?”
“No fabric today, Chester. It’s the cookin’—I mean, I’m making a meal for the Millers.”
“How’s Dan doing? I heard about the heart trouble.”
“I believe he is stable and in Derr Herr’s hands, of course. He’ll probably be in the hospital for a while, though, in any case.”
“Well, be so kind as to tell the family that they are in our prayers, and you’ll not be payin’ for the goods that go into that meal. The goods will be a gift from the Loftus family. You just provide the cookin’, young lady. And don’t argue, I’ll have none of it . . . just tell me what you need.”
Tabitha could see by the set of Chester’s countenance that indeed there would be no use in arguing, so she just smiled and nodded her head.
“Danki, sir. I will be sure to give the Millers your regards. I’ll need a bag of flour, powdered sugar, and some ginger.”
As Chester was doling out the sugar and flour into plastic bags, Tabitha gathered the rest of the supplies for the meal into her bag.
She thanked Chester again and trundled her supplies out to the buggy.
Tabitha soon returned from the little Amish store, which was hidden from most English eyes in its large, plain building. Herr Loftus had even pressed to know what she was baking.
She’d told him with a smile and had gone to her buggy with a glad heart that she lived in a community where others were interested in little things like cookies . . . but, she considered, that also meant they knew the big things too, or at least wanted to.
Now, as she entered her home, she noticed with some dismay that Onkel Fram was still present. He sat at the table drinking a cup of tea, while Aenti Elizabeth looked tight-lipped and tired.
Tabitha decided to act positively and set her purchases on the table.
“We just had breakfast, girl. What are you cooking now? I could still probably hold down a bite or two.” Fram smiled toothily.
Tabitha glanced at him. “I’m sorry, Onkel Fram, I’m preparing a lunch for the Miller family—there might be a bit of leftovers when I’m through, which of course you and Aenti Elizabeth can have. But I’m afraid I must get down to cooking now.”
She tied on her blue apron and sought for the yellow mixing bowl.
“Well then, I’ll just entertain you while you’re cooking, Tabby. You and Lizzie might like to hear a joke or two.”
Tabitha glanced at her aenti, who gave her an encouraging wink.
“Of course, Onkel Fram . . . I’ll—um—listen while I cook.”
Fram slapped the table top. “All right then. Have ya heard the one about the young Amish teacher who sent a note home with a buwe? She said, ‘Your buwe, Mark, shows the signs of astigmatism. Will you sei se gut investigate and take the necessary steps to correct it?’ The next morning, she got a note from the daed, who wrote: ‘I don’t really understand what Mark has done, but I’ve given him a gut walloping and you can wallop him tomorrow. That oughta help some.’”
Tabitha laughed, and even Aenti Elizabeth smiled.
“That’s an auld one, Fram.”
“You’re right, Lizzie . . . and how about a poem—let’s see if I remember it right. It’s something about a cookbook a mamm gave to her dochder.
My dear, here’s a wee book,
That tells ya how I bake,
The pies and cakes and other gut things.
His mamm used to make.
For men are hungry fellows, dear,
But this we know about them,
That cookin’ wouldn’t be such fun
If we had to eat without them . . .
So take this book with my dearest love,
And the thought I now impart;
When you feed a husband,
Keep in mind—
His stomach’s near his heart.
Tabitha stopped and stared at her onkel. Was this Gott speaking through a grumpy auld man to give me encouragement that John would see my love for him through my anxious efforts to cook for him?
A smile of joy touched her lips. “Danki, Onkel Fram. That was truly wonderful.”
Something of her demeanor must have translated itself to the gruff man, because his face colored and he rose abruptly. “Just some sayin’s, that’s all . . . well, think I will geh fishing once more. But I’ll be back in time for lunch.”
Tabitha watched him leave the kitchen, then turned to Aenti Elizabeth. “I think I’ll make the ginger cookies first.”
Her aenti nodded in bright agreement.
As it grew near to noon time, John watched Matt slip away from the workshop to clean up and John decided to follow the idea.
He went up to his room, eased down his suspenders, and changed his blue shirt for a burgundy one, then glanced in the small looking glass above his dresser. He realized his black hair had grown overlong of late and decided to run down to the shed and give himself a quick trim before Tabitha came.
Not that it matters to her how I look. No doubt she’s missing Rob’s face and form, but I might as well not look slovenly.
He was standing outside of the shed, fooling with the scissors and his bangs, when Tabitha drove up a bit early.
He turned to greet her and walked over to the buggy, feeling foolish holding the pair of scissors.
“Hiya,” he said, offering a hand to help her down.
She touched him with light fingertips and jumped easily to the ground.
“Are you doing a haircut, John? I—I’m a dab hand at cutting hair, if I do say so . . . I could help you, if you like?”
He saw the hesitancy in her beautiful blue eyes, almost as if she was afraid he’d reject her offer. “Uh—sure. That would be great, if you really want.”
“Ach, ya. . . let me have the scissors. We can do it on the porch, if you have a sheet and a chair.”
“Okay.” John led the way to the porch, noticing that Matt was unloading the food.
“Mmmm-mmm,” his bruder raved. “You two don’t mind if I have a bite first, do you? I’ve got to get going on that delivery of the hope chest to the Fosters’.”
“Go ahead,” John encouraged, not especially thrilled with the idea of Matt observing when Tabitha cut his hair.
He got a chair set up on the porch and one of his mamm’s old sheets, then sat down, feeling suddenly too tall and awkward as he bent his legs tensely in front of him. He laid his hands on his thighs as she flung the sheet out, then wrapped it around his neck.
He shivered involuntarily as her fingers grazed the back of his neck, then his heart started to pound as he was lost in a daze of sensory delight. She ran her fingers through his hair as if testing for its weight, then set about with the scissors, quietly stroking, brushing, and touching him until he felt like he was coming apart into pieces that might never fit back together again. It took all he had as a man to sit still under her gentle ministrations, and then she bent close to do his bangs and her lovely face was mere inches from his own. He couldn’t help but focus on her mouth and the petal pink softness of her lips.
It would be so easy to kiss her—just one touch of her mouth to his—like water to a working man. He had to close his eyes when he felt her sweet breath mingle with his own as she leaned closer as if to get one more cut right.
“Well, well, isn’t this a cozy scene?”
John’s eyes snapped open at the insinuating female voice and looked down off the porch to see Barbara Esch standing, watching, with a sneer on her lips.
He felt Tabitha tense beside him and his lips set in a grim line. “Hello, Barbara, what can we do for you?”