A Simple Wish Page 4

“I’ll get them,” Loretta said as she stepped away from the table. “Wouldn’t want you fellows to miss a single minute of picking. See you out there!”

  With a light heart and a smile on her face, she hurried through the mudroom just ahead of Asa and Drew. What a relief to be surrounded by family members who sided with her and who made the summer chores fun by working together as a team. As she reached the stable, where they stored the garden tools, Loretta wondered briefly when Dat would emerge from his cave and what he’d eat for supper.

  He’s a grown man. He’d better figure it out, because someday he’ll be home alone.

  Chapter Four

  Drew repeatedly held a bean bush aside, tugged on handfuls of the long, sturdy green beans, and dropped them into his basket. He was a few feet farther along his two rows than Asa was, which felt exhilarating in a boyish sort of way—but it was even more gratifying to glance up at Loretta’s backside now and again. She’d gotten a slightly later start, and she was picking wax beans, which were more scattered on the plants, so she wasn’t keeping up with him. The view of her bare feet in the damp, dark soil, along with her shapely calves and the swell of her bottom beneath her green cape dress, fed Drew’s imagination as he picked.

  “Say, Drew—I’m seeing several beans left hanging on the rows you’ve picked,” Asa remarked as he backed up and shifted his basket to a new position. “Loretta might make you start all over and do it right. Like Mamm did.”

  Loretta’s laughter made him tingle. “Our mamm did the same thing when we girls were distracted,” she called out.

  Distracted didn’t halfway describe the way Drew was feeling. He was somewhat sorry Edith had sent Asa out here to help, because he’d had visions of sharing flirtatious banter with Loretta, just the two of them out here working. Somehow he’d keep his hands to himself, but by the time they finished snapping all these beans he’d be ravenous for direct contact with her. If he had his way, he and Loretta would share a long, late evening together somewhere the darkness would hide them from intruders and interruptions. He did not want Cornelius finding them and delivering another mean-spirited lecture.

  Something happened today while he was gone. Something that’s eating at him, and that he can’t talk about, so he’s taking out his frustration on his girls. And that’s just wrong.

  When he reached the end of his two rows, Drew stood with his arms raised like goalposts. “I win!” he boasted.

  Asa stood up, arching with his hands on his hips to stretch his back. “So now you’ll do the honorable thing and pick those stragglers you missed, jah? Now that our race is over, it’s all about quality.”

  Drew grabbed his basket and strode between the two rows he’d picked, stooping when he reached Loretta. “No, it’s really about making you smile, Loretta,” he murmured—and when she turned her face, he gently caught her head in his hand and kissed her. “You and me. Later. Jah?”

  When her eyes lit up, Drew felt ten feet tall . . . and suddenly needy. So he kissed her again, knowing it would only whet his appetite rather than appease it.

  “Jah,” she whispered eagerly. “Think of a gut place—”

  “Two little lovebirds sittin’ in a tree,” Rosalyn teased through the kitchen window.

  “K-I-S-S-I-N-G!” Edith sang along.

  When a door slammed in the kitchen, Drew instinctively eased away from Loretta and went to the beginning of the rows he’d already picked. It rankled when he heard Cornelius demand his supper, and he was pleasantly surprised to hear Edith point out that the mac and cheese and chicken were on the counter, so he could help himself. His brother’s new wife surprised him sometimes. Edith was a fresh-faced pixie of a woman, but she was bolder than she appeared—and Drew hoped the Riehl sisters would continue standing up for one another when their dat behaved unreasonably.

  He wasn’t surprised that Cornelius didn’t join the five of them on the porch to snap the green beans, and he certainly wasn’t sorry. As dusk fell, Rosalyn hung a couple lanterns so they could see to pick out any bad spots. They all chatted amiably as the subtle snap . . . snap . . . snap punctuated their conversation and their bowls filled with crisp bean sections. Edith and Asa took time out to give the twins their evening bottles, and by the time they finished snapping, a pleasant breeze was blowing, and fireflies were winking out on the lawn.

  As Drew helped carry their bowls of snapped beans inside, he noticed that the only sign of Cornelius was the cheese-smeared dinner plate he’d left in the sink. He was grateful when Asa and Edith started across the road with their sleeping babies and when Rosalyn silently waved him and Loretta toward the mudroom. Who knew where their dat might be hiding, listening to whatever they might say about him—or about where Drew was taking Loretta?

  With his hand on the small of Loretta’s back, he steered her outside and silently closed the back door. Reasoning that Cornelius couldn’t possibly see them, Drew walked to the space between the two low basement windows and pressed Loretta against the house to claim the kiss he’d been yearning for all day. Her eager response made him flare inside and kiss her more insistently. “Loretta,” he whispered against the velvety skin of her neck. “Loretta . . .”

  “Dat’s bedroom—and his shop window—are on the front of the house,” she whispered, “but he might step out the sliding glass door over there, looking for us. The sooner we get across the street and behind the windbreak of pine trees, the better the chance he won’t spot us.”

  Drew admired the way she grabbed his hand and started around the side of the house. The moon was a pale fingernail clipping in the sky, not shining much light, although Drew felt so electric, he might be emitting a glow visible for miles as he crossed the road with Loretta. Anyone standing outside whose eyes were accustomed to the darkness—say, Bishop Tom, or perhaps the Brennemans—might spot two lithe figures stealing behind the dense evergreens. But he was beyond caring.

  And what can anyone do to us? We’re slipping out of sight as Amish folks of courting age have done forever.

  When Loretta opened her arms, Drew pulled her close and kissed her hungrily. He reminded himself to be cautious. Although he’d followed passion’s course where Molly Ropp had led him, Loretta wasn’t that sort of young woman. She was sweet and innocent and had no idea how her eager embrace inflamed him. After a few delectably dangerous moments, he eased away from her. “Wow,” he murmured.

  “More,” Loretta whimpered. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since Saturday.”

  Drew held her close again, carefully placing his head against hers rather than succumbing to another kiss. “Same here. Let’s, um, walk for a bit, shall we?”

  With a sigh, Loretta relented. “I can’t thank you enough for taking my part—and for saying the prayer!—at dinner, Drew,” she said as they walked along the windbreak. “The expression on Dat’s face was priceless. Nobody’s ever stolen his thunder that way.”

  He considered what he wanted to discuss with her, hoping the topic wouldn’t spoil their walk. “What he did to you was just wrong, Loretta—trying to force you to quit your job before we could say grace and eat,” he began. “Why do I suspect that he behaved that way before your mamm passed, but that it’s gotten worse lately?”

  Loretta gazed at him, her mouth dropping open. “H-how did you know that?” she whispered. “Oh, Drew, even though we moved here from Roseville without much warning earlier this year, it hasn’t helped his moods. I thought leaving the house where Mamm had lived would make things easier, but he’s gotten so impatient. So intolerant.”

  “And he’s holding her death over your heads, placing her high on a pedestal as though she were a saint—beyond reproach or ordinary mistakes.” He considered what she’d said about their move to Willow Ridge. “Any particular reason you left Roseville?”

  She shrugged, clinging to his hand. “Dat’s cousin Reuben moved to Roseville to help take care of his widowed mamm, who lived just down the road from us,” she explained. “He and Dat agreed
it would be advantageous to just swap houses, even up, so we brought our clothes, the furniture—and Mamm’s things, of course. We got Reuben’s chickens as part of the deal because he didn’t want to move them.”

  Drew thought about this. “Did your dat ever act as though he’d gotten the short end of the swap?”

  Loretta’s brow puckered endearingly. “Not that I know of. The houses are about the same size—and because Reuben was the deacon for Willow Ridge and Dat had served the Roseville church district as deacon, it seemed like a gut move for both towns, because their church leadership wouldn’t be interrupted.”

  Why does this sound a little too convenient? A little too easy ? Drew tried to dismiss his misgivings about Cornelius being the man in charge of church finances, but maybe he was just suspicious because Loretta’s dat was always so disagreeable.

  It’s more than that. Cornelius is too secretive. Downright slippery. But he couldn’t say this to Loretta. Her heart was already fragile from her father’s verbal abuse.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked sweetly. They’d almost reached the end of the windbreak, and she stopped to face him. “You don’t like my dat much, do you?”

  Drew had no intention of answering that question, so he placed his hands lightly on Loretta’s shoulders. “I don’t like the way he treats you,” he replied. “It was such a simple wish you made, wanting your home to be happy—free of constant conflict. Every family has its quarrels, but overall I’d say most other folks take your wish for granted. And that’s sad,” he added quietly. “I want better for you, Loretta.”

  When she hung her head, he wished he’d been a bit less honest. Then again, keeping secrets and being deceptive had gotten him in trouble when Molly had believed he was Asa, and again when he’d tried to pass himself off as Asa at his brother and Edith’s wedding. Perhaps because he’d become so adept at deception, he was more aware of that trait in other folks. Namely Cornelius.

  Drew held Loretta close, nuzzling her neck until she kissed him again. He eased away with a smile, holding her hands. “If you’re working for Nora tomorrow, we should get you home for some sleep,” he suggested. “Can’t have you nodding off on one of those beds displayed in her store.”

  She chuckled. “I feel bad, leaving the canning to Rosalyn and Edith,” she admitted.

  “But you didn’t know we’d be picking all those beans after supper,” he pointed out. “And I suspect your sisters are cheering you on for taking that job, so they’ll be happy to tackle tomorrow’s canning without you.”

  “Jah, you’re probably right. I’ll whip together a casserole or two before I leave tomorrow,” she said, planning aloud. “Only fair to prepare their meals when they’ll have such a busy day. And maybe I’ll go home over my lunch break—Nora and I haven’t yet talked about how long that will be.”

  “It’ll be an exciting day,” Drew said as they walked back the way they’d come. “I’ll be thinking about you.” Even though I’ll be imagining you’re with me instead of in Nora’s store.

  * * *

  Will’s fists clenched at his sides as he stared out the window. Unable to sleep, he’d been pacing his dark apartment—just as two shadowy figures emerged from behind the evergreen windbreak to stride across the road toward the Riehl place.

  “Really?” he whispered in exasperation. Wasn’t it enough that Drew had hidden behind those trees when Will had accused Asa of fathering Molly’s twins—the day this whole fiasco involving Drew Detweiler had come to light? It couldn’t bode well for Loretta’s reputation that she’d been back there with him. Will knew from plowing the nearby field that the thick grass bordering the windbreak was tall and lush . . . much softer, cooler, and more enticing than hay in the loft of a barn on an August night.

  The thought of that dog Detweiler rolling in the grass with his Loretta made Will’s face tingle and burn. He had to confront Loretta about this—because if he didn’t watch out for her, who would?

  Chapter Five

  On Tuesday morning Loretta stepped inside the Simple Gifts store and inhaled the pleasant fragrance of the potpourri Nora kept in bowls around the store. As she took in the beautiful displays of quilts and pottery, the Brennemans’ furniture, Matthias Wagler’s saddles, Preacher Ben’s ornamental metal gates, Bishop Tom’s carved Nativity sets—not to mention Nora’s three-dimensional quilted hangings in the upper level—her sense of perspective returned. She’d felt a little guilty leaving Rosalyn and Edith stirring steaming pots of green beans on the stove, but she’d felt only relief at leaving Dat. His lecture this morning had stung her soul, and it had taken all her strength to arrive at Nora’s store with dry eyes.

  Your mother—and Jesus—are shaking their heads, weeping for your wayward soul, daughter. The black marks beside your name in God’s Book of Life are adding up to a disastrous day of reckoning unless you repent your rebellious ways.

  “Gut morning, Loretta!” Nora called out from her office. “It’s wonderful to see you, sweetie, and I’m looking forward to your first day in my store!”

  Like a bee to nectar, Loretta passed between the displays toward the friend—now her employer—whose encouraging words turned her mood from darkness to light. For the next few hours she would observe and listen carefully as Nora showed her how to tag new items that had come in, as well as how to ring up sales and record them in the blue notebook alongside crafters’ consignment numbers. She and her sisters had played store as children, but working at Simple Gifts felt like much more of an adventure than their game, because she was working with real items that Plain folks were being paid for. And she would soon be teaching a rug-making class! It amazed her how confident Nora seemed in her own abilities, even though she’d never worked in a store before she’d opened Simple Gifts.

  “First, let’s set a date and time for your rug classes and figure the cost of materials and your time so we can post a sign-up sheet,” Nora suggested. Her auburn hair was tucked up into a bun beneath her small, circular Mennonite kapp, and her pink and tan geometric print dress accentuated the sprinkling of freckles across her nose. But it was Nora’s smile that revealed her true beauty. “I’ll also include a sign-up form in an email newsletter I’ll send to my customers. I’ve taken photos of a couple of your rugs so they’ll know what sort of item they’ll be working on,” she explained. “This is so exciting, Loretta! You’ll be the first of my crafters to teach a class—and I think we should set up two different times, for starters.”

  Loretta’s head was swimming with joy. She had no idea what an email newsletter was, but if Nora was sending it out, it had to be good. She threw her arms around the storekeeper, laughing nervously. “If you really think I can pull this off, Nora, I’ll give it my very best shot.”

  “No doubt in my mind,” Nora said as she gave Loretta a squeeze. “I think if we offer one in the morning and another in the afternoon of a different day—maybe one of those on a Saturday—we’ll allow for our potential students’ schedules. And who knows? We may have so many ladies responding that we’ll need to arrange for a third class!”

  They decided on Thursday afternoon the twenty-fifth and Saturday morning the twenty-seventh. As Nora did the math to cover the cost of fabric and a two-hour lesson, Loretta’s heart thrummed. She watched in amazement as Nora opened her laptop and put together her email newsletter with a headline and rug photographs and a few paragraphs of information, along with a simple response form. Somehow—computer magic, most likely—when Nora hit the Send button, her hundreds of customers would all receive this message, and they could reply to it without having to call or come to the store.

  “That’s awesome,” Loretta murmured.

  “It is,” Nora agreed. “And while I understand why the Amish faith doesn’t allow folks to own computers, I can honestly say that my store wouldn’t be doing half so well if I couldn’t advertise online with my website and send newsletters to my customers.”

  Nora’s honey-colored eyes lit up.

  “
You’ll meet Rebecca Oliveri this afternoon when she comes to discuss some updates on my website. She’s one of Miriam Hooley’s triplet daughters, a sister to Rachel Brenneman and Rhoda Leitner,” she explained, “but when she was wee little she was washed away in the flood of nineteen ninety-three. After a couple in New Haven found her, they raised her English,” Nora continued with a smile. “Rebecca came back to find her birth mother, Miriam, after her English mother passed. She recently built a new home down the road—and she’s been a huge asset to all of us in Willow Ridge ever since she returned.”

  Loretta considered this. “So . . . she’s Miriam’s daughter, but she’s not Amish anymore? And Miriam’s okay with that?”

  Nora’s smile crinkled the skin around her eyes. “Miriam was so overjoyed that Rebecca hadn’t drowned in the flood, she doesn’t mind that her long-lost daughter plans to remain English,” she replied. “Sometimes, for weddings or other occasions, Rebecca dresses Amish with her sisters, but you’ll usually see her in jeans. She has an office for her computer design work above Andy Leitner’s clinic, and she’s his receptionist several mornings a week.”

  “Wow. That’s an unusual arrangement,” Loretta remarked after she thought about what Nora had told her. “If something like this happened in Roseville, I’m not sure the daughter would be so welcome if she refused to join the Old Order.”

  “I believe you’re right,” Nora said with a nod. “Just goes to show you how much more progressive—and forgiving—the folks in Willow Ridge are. Lord knows I set this town on its ear last year when I came back from living English!” she added with a chuckle. “My parents were disappointed when I joined the Mennonite church, but—like Miriam—my mamm was so glad to have me back in town, she praised God that I joined any church at all, and that I came back to be near my family.”

  Loretta sighed. How would it feel to be embraced by forgiveness such as Nora and Rebecca had received, rather than enduring Dat’s constant chastisement? She set aside her glum recollection of his latest lecture to concentrate on the way Nora wanted her to write out tags for several new place mats and pot holders they’d received from a River Brethren seamstress near Jamesport, as well as a big bagful of faceless, stuffed Amish dolls that Seth Brenneman’s wife, Mary, had made.