Autumn Winds Page 14

  Miriam laughed. “No, not this time—but denki for askin’, Derek. I’m doin’ this of my own free will, and Hiram doesn’t know about it yet . . . but meanwhile, I’ve got a favor to ask.”

  “And what would that be? This transaction could change things in Willow Ridge, if your buyer builds a gristmill—especially because land doesn’t come up for sale all that often among the Amish.”

  “Jah, but this is a different sort of situation.” Miriam looked again to be sure Ben wasn’t coming. “I like the idea of bringin’ a new business to town, and I . . . I like the fella who asked me about that possibility. But he’s from out East, and all I know about him is what he’s told me. When ya do your credit checkin’ and all those other things that go into drawin’ up the papers, I hope you’ll let me know if somethin’ doesn’t seem right to ya. These fellas’ll be my close neighbors, after all.”

  Derek nodded as he made a note on his legal pad. “I can call our bank’s affiliates in Pennsylvania. As part of the loan process we do thorough credit checks—although I must say that as a rule, Amish transactions are among the lowest risk we see. You folks don’t believe in defaulting on loans, and lots of times you pay them off early.”

  “Jah, my Jesse was that way, and I am, too.” She glanced outside, gesturing toward Ben’s approaching wagon. “This fella who’s goin’ to the river with us . . . let’s just say he’s interested in more than settin’ up his brothers with a mill.”

  “Are you, um, interested in the same things Ben is, Miriam?” Derek’s smile brightened his face. “Seems to me, any man would be very, very lucky to latch on to you or any of your girls. But if you’re asking me to give you my opinion of him—confidentially, of course—before the transaction takes place, I’d be happy to do that.”

  She clasped her hands, grinning. “Denki, Derek! I can’t tell ya how glad I am that you and I usually think along the same lines.” Miriam went to the door to swing it open for Ben. “Come in and meet Derek Shotwell, Ben! He’s a gut friend and he watches out for me and my money.”

  “Gut to meet you, Derek. Ben Hooley—and I appreciate your comin’ so soon to help us with our mill idea.” Ben and Derek shook hands and sized each other up quickly, and when they’d all stepped outside, Miriam locked the café’s door.

  The stroll to the riverbank was a good opportunity for the two men to discuss particulars of the mill in a way Ben hadn’t shared with her—man-to-man but businessman-to-businessman, as well. Miriam listened closely, especially as the two of them spoke about the potential for the mill’s profitability and the opportunities for other Willow Ridge residents to benefit. She felt confident that Ben was presenting himself and his brothers honestly—a key point, once Hiram Knepp challenged the loan officer about this transaction. Because the bishop was still peeved that Derek had allowed an English fellow to buy her building, he would protest it.

  It was also good that Ben and Derek talked about how Willow Ridge’s farmers depended upon water from this section of the Missouri River for their livestock. Anyone who used the river’s water to operate—as a mill would—affected water quality and availability for everyone downstream, after all.

  As they came to the ridge where the rapids were first visible, Derek paused. He stood silently for a moment, taking in the adjoining hayfields and pasturelands that belonged to Tom Hostetler. As the river curved around the back side of her land, it marked the boundary for Leah and Daniel Kanagy’s farm, as well.

  “What a beautiful place,” Derek said, a sense of awe evident in his voice. “Working in an office all day, I forget that some folks have this for scenery instead of a parking lot or the strip mall across the road.” He smiled at them both. “And where do you foresee this mill, Ben? Do you have any idea of dimensions, or building costs, or how much Ira and Luke will want to borrow—?”

  “Oh, they’re puttin’ down cash,” Ben assured the banker. “They’ve been savin’ up for this opportunity, waitin’ for the right place to come along. I knew this would be a gut spot as soon as I saw it.”

  Derek glanced at Miriam, and then back to Ben. “You realize if we’re talking about twenty-five acres of bottom land, along with the costs of the survey and the appraisal, that we’re tallying up to more than a hundred fifty thousand dollars before you even build the mill.”

  “My word, that’s a chunk of money,” Miriam remarked.

  “At six-thousand an acre, it’s a lot more than Jesse paid for it,” Derek agreed. “But the going rate in this area’s running between five and six thousand, so I figured you should ask on the high side, Miriam. That way Hiram Knepp can’t say you sold it for less than you should have.”

  Ben nodded. “To a fella from Lancaster County, that sounds like a real bargain, Derek.”

  The loan officer jotted a few more lines in his notebook. “So how did your brothers make their money? You said they were only around thirty.”

  “They’re already growin’ the grains they want to mill here, and they’ve gotten into organic feeds the last couple of years, too,” Ben explained, “so they can bring along their own seed to start some farmers out with. They’ve marketed these grains to regional mills, but they’ve always wanted to mill it themselves.”

  Ben extended his arms, gesturing at the farmland around them. “It could give the farmers in Willow Ridge a real gut advantage, bein’ among the first to grow these specialty crops in Missouri. And it’s a procedure to rotate away from the wheat and corn they’ve always planted, to replenish their soil.”

  Derek was nodding, looking at Miriam as he replied. “Sounds to me like your brothers have the know-how to really make a go of it, Ben. I’ll call the surveyor and get the appraisal done, and meanwhile, if you and your brothers can present a blueprint of the mill design and a business proposal, we’ll be on our way to making this work.”

  The banker smiled at her then. “Does that sound reasonable to you, Miriam? I know you want to do the right thing with your husband’s land, and the right thing for Willow Ridge.”

  Miriam inhaled deeply. Derek Shotwell seemed genuinely impressed by what he’d heard, so she felt better already about making the gristmill a reality . . . and more confident about Ben, too. “This sounds like the most excitin’ thing since—well, since I opened my bakery!” she replied. “I want to ask the girls, though, and we can talk about it tonight when all three of them are together. Ben’s gonna join us. You can come, too, if you’d like, Derek.”

  He extended his hand and she shook it. “My family’s expecting me home for soccer games and dinner on the run tonight,” he said apologetically. “I sometimes envy you Amish, because your kids aren’t involved in so many activities that keep us English parents running the roads.”

  As they walked back toward Derek’s car, Miriam felt a real sense of satisfaction: not only was she moving forward, rethinking the use of Jesse’s land, but she had progressed beyond those overwhelming feelings of dismay she’d felt when she’d talked to Polly Hershberger. And after that, Ben had said he loved her. Recalling that moment in his wagon made her flush with a pleasure she hadn’t known since she was a girl Rachel’s age, preparing to marry Jesse Lantz.

  Yet she still needed to be cautious. Things were happening much faster, on the business front as well as the personal side, than was common for Amish folk. Change happened slowly—sometimes not at all—when it came to some aspects of their Old Order life, and the sameness of their faith made a good measuring stick when fellows like Ben Hooley blew in from out of nowhere, claiming to be guided by God.

  Such gratifying thoughts changed when they came in sight of the Sweet Seasons. A carriage was parked there, with a familiar figure standing beside it. “Well now, do ya suppose Hiram’s somehow gotten wind of this mill proposal?” she asked quietly. “We’ve not mentioned it to him yet, Derek, so be ready for a burst of bluster.”

  Indeed, as the three of them came down the lane toward the café, Hiram was watching them with a scowl. “I came by for my pie, Miriam,
but the door was locked,” he said in a testy voice.

  Miriam reminded herself that women were to be respectful and submissive. “We close at two, ya know,” she replied sweetly. “And you’re always tellin’ me I stay too long after hours, ain’t so?”

  “Good afternoon, Hiram. Good to see you again,” Derek said as he offered his hand. “Ready to take your horses to that big sale?”

  Ignoring the loan officer’s etiquette, the bishop looked from Ben to Derek to Miriam as though he suspected them of conspiring against him. “I load them up tomorrow. My webmaster has passed along several inquiries from prospective buyers, so I’m expecting top dollar for the yearlings and the mares I’m selling. And what might you be discussing with Miriam and our guest, Mr. Hooley?”

  Ben took the bait rather than let the banker get caught in the crossfire between him and the bishop. “I’ve got brothers wantin’ to build a mill. We’re buyin’ a parcel of Lantz land along the river for it, as soon as we get the plans drawn up.”

  The bishop scowled, gripping his suspenders. “If you think I’ll grant you permission to electrify this business—”

  “We’re usin’ water power. Or, if the river runs low, we’ll hitch horses to the machinery—as the Amish and other civilizations have done for centuries.” Ben reached for his wallet then, turning to Derek. “And here’s money for that survey and appraisal you’re arrangin’. Will this cover it?”

  Miriam’s eyes widened. She didn’t get a close count, but as Derek spread the bills between his fingers, she was pretty sure that more than fifteen hundred dollars had just changed hands.

  “This is more than enough, Ben—”

  “And as I told ya, my brothers’ll be payin’ cash for the land. The Brenneman brothers’ll be paid as they buy the lumber and supplies, so the mill will be paid in full by the time they finish.”

  The color rose in Hiram’s face. “You both know better than to transact such business behind my back,” he said in a tight voice. “Miriam, you’re making a big mistake, allowing men you’ve never even met to start up a business on land that’s been in your husband’s family for generations! What are you thinking?”

  Miriam assumed the most polite tone she could, considering the sins the bishop had recently committed on the sly. “This is better use of that rocky, thin soil than Jesse ever made of it,” she replied quietly. “And if ya believe for one minute that havin’ Ben’s old girlfriend call me is gonna scare me away from Ben or this sale,” she added pointedly, “ya haven’t paid much attention to the way my faith—and my God—guide me when I make decisions. Seems we’ll have a lot of business to discuss at the members’ meetin’ when ya come forward to confess, like Tom and Gabe have requested.”

  Hiram’s nostrils flared, but when Derek Shotwell’s face registered his concern at this information, the bishop didn’t respond to it. His gaze remained on Miriam, as though he were seeking out the next soft spot beneath her spiritual and emotional armor.

  “We’ll be discussing your lack of respect, as well, Miriam. Some matters are not meant to be discussed before people who don’t follow our faith.” Hiram cleared his throat stiffly. “Now, if I can have that pie, I’ll be going—to discuss this mill proposition with the preachers. Without their consent, you’ve done a lot of business that will need to be undone—as you’re surely aware.”

  Miriam quickly fetched the boxed pie from her countertop. The talk among the men outside sounded anything but cordial, but it was better than having the bishop follow her in here to impress his dissatisfaction on her personally . . . physically. And at least the subject of the mill had been brought to his attention now, in the presence of the banker who handled Hiram’s Belgian business.

  As she handed the bishop his box, he nodded curtly. “Hooley, I’ve advised you to move on after you’ve completed your farrier work this week,” he remarked. “I suspect you’re constantly on the road, because every bishop along your path has seen you for the undesirable influence you are—especially among Plain women—and has sent you on your way.”

  Neither Miriam nor Ben nor Derek replied to that as the bishop got into his carriage. As the clip-clop! clip-clop! of his horse’s hooves faded in the distance, the banker cleared his throat.

  “That man continues to annoy and astonish me.” Derek pulled a small form from his notebook and quickly wrote out a receipt for Ben. “We’ll keep in touch, of course. If this mill proposition goes sour, rest assured you’ll get your money back, Ben. And if that happens . . . and other investors from outside the Plain community wish to build a mill in such a perfect spot,” he added with a purposeful smile, “don’t be surprised if they want your brothers to manage it.”

  Miriam grinned. “Jah, the Lord has worked in such mysterious ways before, ain’t so?” she asked. “Denki, Derek. It’s a pleasure to work with ya.”

  As the loan officer drove off in his silver SUV, Ben looked after him. “And what did he mean by that? Derek seems like a trustworthy fella—interested in expandin’ Willow Ridge’s horizons, which, of course, will make his bank some money in the meantime.”

  Miriam nodded. “Neither he nor I were expectin’ it when my Rebecca’s English dat, Bob Oliveri, bought the Sweet Seasons buildin’ by outbiddin’ Hiram. It’s just another example of how things work out for the gut of them that love the Lord, ain’t so?” She smiled up at Ben, pleased with how their meeting had gone, all in all. “Shall we see what the girls have cooked up for dinner? We’ve got a lot of plans to discuss tonight.”

  Chapter 16

  As Ben sat in the large, cozy kitchen that rang with the Lantz women’s laughter, he recalled his mamm’s kitchen, where his two sisters had worked every bit as efficiently as Rachel and Rhoda. He realized how much he missed them . . . felt a little sad that he’d left them behind. While Plain folk had welcomed him wherever he went, it wasn’t the same as being home.

  He shifted in his chair, which he’d taken mostly to stay out of their way. The girls had set places for him and Miriam across the table from theirs, leaving their dat’s seat empty, and for that he was grateful. When a red sports car roared up the driveway and Tiffany Oliveri—Miriam’s Rebecca—climbed out, Ben felt warm all over. What an excited, noisy welcome this English-raised girl received! She hugged Rachel and Rhoda as though she felt honored to be included in the wedding plans—and in their lives.

  “Isn’t that a sight to behold?” Miriam murmured as the triplets all chattered at once. “It makes those eighteen years, when we assumed Rebecca had drowned, a reminder of how God works in mysterious, miraculous ways even when we don’t have the strength to believe that.”

  “Especially when we can’t believe,” Ben clarified. He took in the pale yellow walls and modest oak cabinets . . . the pedestal table that had probably belonged to Jesse’s parents. “All the more reason to keep the faith, concernin’ this mill. Though if your girls object to the idea, I’ll not even call my brothers to tell them about this place.”

  As Miriam removed two beautifully roasted chickens from the oven, he noted deepening lines between her brows, like parentheses.

  “That’s not to say I’ll leave ya to keep lookin’ for property,” he added quietly. “Truth be told, Ira and Luke have been keepin’ an eye out, too, and they might’ve found a place closer to home.”

  “And if bein’ close to home is where they’ll be happy, that’s the most important thing.” Miriam flashed him a grateful smile that made his insides quiver. After the long day in the café, she’d changed to a dress in a shade of lavender that brought out a velvety, roselike freshness to her cheeks. As she turned toward her girls, her sleek profile, mature yet fit, teased at him.

  He felt mighty blessed that such a woman as Miriam Lantz would go along with his business plans, as well as his dream of their life together.

  “Shall we set everythin’ on the table, girls?” she asked after another outburst of their giggling. “We’ve got lots to talk about besides Rachel’s big day.”


  Rhoda raised an eyebrow as she carried the buttered beets and a yam casserole to the table. “Sounds like things have been simmerin’ in places besides the café,” she remarked playfully. “And I’m gut with that, too, Ben. I didn’t mean to come between you and Mamma, or act like my feelin’s mattered more than—”

  “Honey-bug, it was a natural thing to do,” Miriam remarked with a loving smile.

  “I’m glad it didn’t turn ya against me, when I asked ya to leave the apartment,” Ben remarked. “There’s another fella out there waitin’ to find ya, Rhoda—even if he doesn’t know it yet. Sometimes it takes us men a while to figure out who’ll make us happy.”

  “Well, your bishop wasn’t any too happy with me when I showed you his website.” Rebecca grabbed pot holders to carry the platter of steaming chicken Miriam had cut into pieces.

  Miriam glanced at Ben with a subtle smile. “Jah, well, Hiram’s not been happy with me since long before your dat bought the café buildin’, Rebecca—and now he’s peeved at Ben, too.” She shrugged. “I’ve learned to see the situation for the challenge it is—and to believe God’s teachin’ me to stand up for what I believe instead of assumin’ Hiram’s right just because he’s the bishop.”

  Rachel brought a bright yellow gelatin salad from the refrigerator, and a prettily arranged plate of fresh vegetables. “Here’s the last of the tomatoes from the garden, and some of our carrots, and celery with peanut butter—and we’ve stashed so much celery in the root cellar for the wedding! Creamed celery is one of the dishes ya just have to have for the feast, ya see. You’re comin’, ain’t so, Rebecca?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it!”

  “And you, too, Ben?” Rachel grinned at him, alight with a special glow that graced every bride-to-be. “Micah’s glad ya happened along to work on that wrought iron railin’ for the historical home they’re restorin’. He says ya might have another project for him and his brothers to build, too, but he won’t tell me about it!”