Her Amish Suitor's Secret Page 7

  “Jah, it can be roasting there, especially because of the humidity. We get some big thunderstorms, too.” Weather was a safe topic; Caleb hoped Rose wouldn’t question him more about his family or his teaching. He quickly redirected their conversation. “Have you been hiking in the woods here, by the camp?”

  “These woods?” She pointed to the areas bordering both sides of the fields and Caleb nodded. “Neh. They’re too buggy and there aren’t any real paths to follow.”

  “How about on the islands on the lake?”

  “Neh, I’ve just paddled around them. Why?”

  “I was wondering if they’re worth exploring.” If they’d make good hiding places for stolen property...

  “They’re pretty small, but I’ve heard they provide a nice shady place for a picnic or shelter from the rain if you’re out fishing and can’t get back to the camp in time. But Paradise Point is my favorite place to get out. It’s a steep climb, but the view makes it worth it. It was too bad we weren’t wearing shoes on Sunday or we could have gone to the top.”

  “Maybe next time,” Caleb suggested, figuring it would be helpful to his search if he went with someone who was already familiar with the landscape. And better Rose than Eleanor. Or Henry. Or anybody else, for that matter.

  “Mmm-hmm,” Rose murmured distractedly. It wasn’t a commitment, but it was better than a refusal.

  Whistling, Caleb continued picking berries so swiftly he soon moved far ahead of Rose in the parallel row, which made further conversation impractical.

  “Show-off,” she called to him some forty minutes later. “It’s almost quitting time. I need to make supper pretty soon.”

  “You go ahead. I’m fine here alone.”

  “Neh, I can’t leave until you do. That wouldn’t be right.”

  “Just five more minutes then. There are lots of ripe ones over here,” he bargained.

  It must have been fifteen minutes later when he felt a little thump between his shoulder blades. Then another one a few inches lower. “Hey!” he shouted. As he stood and turned toward her, Rose lobbed a rotten strawberry right at his chest. Then at his head. Apparently she had stockpiled the unusable fruit in a fold in her apron and was chucking them at him in rapid fire. His white shirt was already grimy, and now it bloomed with crimson.

  He bent to retrieve the berries she’d thrown and tossed them back at her. One caught her right in the forehead and another bounced off her arm. They volleyed fruit back and forth until finally she held her palm up and yelled, “Absatz!”

  “Then drop what you have in your apron,” he demanded.

  “You drop what you have in your hand first.”

  “Why? Don’t you trust me?” Although Caleb had been teasing, to his surprise Rose let her apron fall flat. The mushy berries spilled to the ground for the birds to enjoy later.

  “I’m beginning to,” she said, wiping juice from her forehead with the back of her hand. “Truce?”

  Caleb opened his fists, letting the fruit bounce at his feet. “Truce,” he said, smiling. Contention between him and a woman had never been such fun.

  * * *

  After Caleb scraped the last bit of cheesy sauce from his plate, Rose stood and prompted the girls. “Let’s get these dishes cleared. I’ve got a big tray of strawberries to wash, hull and quarter.” She intended to sell pies only on the day she made them, which meant she’d have to wake by four thirty on Tuesday morning. By preparing all of her ingredients this evening, she’d ensure she had enough time to bake the pies before starting breakfast for the camp guests.

  “I took the plywood out of the barn and brought it to the house,” Caleb said as he pushed the bench back so he could rise. “I brought up a pint of paint and a brush, too.”

  “Ach! I forgot all about my sign. Denki for doing that for me. I’ll have to get to it in the morning.”

  “It won’t be dry enough to put out on the roadside if you wait until the morning. I’ll do it for you,” Caleb offered.

  Rose touched her hairline. There was something sticky there even though she’d washed her face after her strawberry fight with Caleb. “You just want me to owe you another favor,” she teased.

  “Neh, there’s no payback necessary. Although, if you felt inclined to make a spare pie for the staff to eat, I wouldn’t object.”

  Rose chuckled. “I was going to make one for us anyway.”

  “Ach, then I should have asked for two,” Caleb said, snapping his fingers. “What do you want the sign to say? Pies Made by an Amish Rose?”

  Even though Rose was her name, there was something about the way Caleb called her an Amish Rose that made it difficult for her to meet his eyes. “I guess it should just say Rose’s Pies.” She added, “Denki. I appreciate your help—again.”

  And she did, at the same time aware she couldn’t let it become a habit. It wouldn’t be fair to accept Caleb’s help without compensating him in some way, especially since she realized he was running off so fast because he had to complete chores their berry picking had prevented him from finishing that afternoon. So, later, when she was measuring the ingredients she’d need for the crusts, she was sure to include enough extra to make a batch of individual-sized pies just for him as a token of appreciation, as well as an extra pie for all the staff to share together.

  After she’d prepared the berries and taken the remaining rhubarb she’d frozen out of the freezer, she set out the other ingredients and mixing bowls. She was rummaging through the cupboards in search of extra pie tins when she thought she heard the dining hall screen door creak open. “Hello?” she called, but no one answered. All that sunshine I got today must be playing tricks with my mind, she thought and stopped to drink a glass of water.

  By the time she left the dining hall, it was almost ten o’clock. All of the guests’ cabins were dark, and from the direction of the lake, a loon cried. The sound was so eerily beautiful it made Rose shiver. She was almost to the house when something rustled loudly in the thicket of bushes on the side of the path. “Is someone there?” she asked. A branch snapped and then there was utter silence, which for some reason was even more unsettling. Was something—or someone—watching her? Rose fled up the porch steps, entered the house, slammed the door behind her and quickly turned the bolt.

  “What’s wrong?” Charity asked as she descended the stairs.

  Rose panted. “Nothing. I’m probably being lappich. I heard something in the bushes and my imagination ran away with me.” It was Caleb’s influence—all that talk about criminals lurking nearby.

  “It could have been the moose. Miriam’s daed saw it on Freidaag morning.” There was at least one young bull moose known to roam Serenity Ridge, but Rose doubted that was what she’d heard.

  “Neh, it wasn’t loud enough to be a moose—and a moose wouldn’t have suddenly stopped walking, either. It was probably one of the guests. Or a raccoon.” But now she would check to see if the back door was locked, too.

  Fortunately, Rose’s fatigue overshadowed her trepidation, and she fell asleep quickly and slept soundly until morning. When she headed toward the dining hall at first light, she noted deer tracks on the path and felt foolish about her jitteriness the evening before. As she rolled out the pie dough, she prayed for her aunt and uncle and asked Gott to bless her efforts that day, especially with her pie making. She thanked the Lord for Caleb’s help, too. Ah, Caleb. He’s not at all like I thought he was the first time I met him, she thought. I guess that’s what Ant Nancy meant by giving him a chance to demonstrate his character instead of judging him.

  Thanks to the large oven, Rose was able to make half a dozen pies before breakfast. After the guests had been served and she, Caleb and the girls had eaten, Rose retrieved the little wagon from the side of the house to cart the pies, jarred goods and any produce still fresh enough to sell to the roadside stand. Caleb walked with her, carrying her new s
ign. “The pies will sell out by noon, you’ll see,” he said.

  Later, as she was restocking the shelves with freshly picked vegetables, she discovered he was right—all of the pies were gone and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet. The early success motivated her to pick berries again that afternoon and she gladly accepted Caleb’s help. Not only did he pick even faster than she did, but talking to him made the work seem less tedious. While she noticed he asked more questions than he answered, she figured since his parents had died, talking about family made him lonely, so she didn’t push.

  On Wednesday the pies sold out by ten thirty—Rose couldn’t keep herself from checking the produce stand every hour or so—and that afternoon Caleb joined her in the strawberry patch again, which was a good thing, since a torrential rain broke out at suppertime. “Looks like we picked all the gut berries in the nick of time,” she commented, telling Caleb she’d freeze the surplus strawberries or keep them in the cool of the basement so she could make strawberry-raspberry pies the following week, when she hoped the raspberries would be ripe enough to pick.

  “I doubt any boi could taste as delectable as your aebeer babrag boi, but I’m willing to be proved wrong,” Caleb offered. “Rarely happens, though.”

  “Nice try,” Rose countered, but she’d already decided she’d make a few individual-sized strawberry-raspberry pies for him to sample.

  On Friday morning, as she rolled the wagon to the stand, Rose noticed a car idling near the roadway. A middle-aged woman got out and opened a large green umbrella. “Are you Rose?” she asked.

  “I am.” Rose didn’t mind the rain and she’d covered the wagon with a big piece of cardboard so its contents wouldn’t get wet, but the woman extended her umbrella to shield Rose’s head, too.

  “I’m Helen Berton,” she said. “We own the Inn on Black Bear Lake.”

  Rose squinted at her. “How may I help you?”

  “I bought a couple of your delicious pies this week and I wanted to put in an order for more. Yesterday someone bought them all before I could get here. Full disclosure—I do serve them to our guests, but meals are included in the cost of their stay, so it’s not as if I’m directly reselling or profiting from your pies.”

  Rose didn’t answer right away. She wasn’t sure she could commit to taking orders—her first commitment had to be to the guests at the camp. So far nothing had happened to prevent her from making pies to sell, but if there was an issue with a guest or a cabin she had to attend to, Rose might not have time for extra baking. There were always legitimate excuses for an occasional lapse, but it wouldn’t reflect well on the Amish—or on Rose—if she agreed to an arrangement and then didn’t honor her word. “I don’t really take orders. I have more of a first-come, first-served policy,” she said.

  “Please? I’ll pay double what you’re charging per pie. They’re well worth it.”

  Now, that was tempting. Maybe if Rose shared her concern about something urgent arising at the camp they could work out an arrangement in advance. Like, Rose could keep a few frozen pies on hand? Frozen pies were good, but freshly made pies were better and when it came to her baked goods, Rose was a perfectionist, so she was conflicted. As much as she needed the money, this wasn’t a matter she could decide on the spot. “I—I would have to think about it and get back to you with an answer,” she said.

  Helen thanked her profusely for her consideration. Then she pointed to the wagon. “You must have pies in there—I can smell them. There’s nothing stopping me from buying three or four of them today, is there?”

  “Neh, of course not,” Rose answered, and after the woman paid her, she helped load the pies into the trunk of her SUV. “I can let you know my decision tomorrow morning.”

  “I understand. You probably need to sleep on it, right?” Helen guessed. “Or is it that you have to talk it over with your husband first?”

  Rather than informing the woman she wasn’t married, Rose lifted her chin and said, “Neh. I don’t need my husband’s opinion, but I do need to pray about it. I’ll be here at nine o’clock and we can talk then.”

  * * *

  Because Caleb had spent Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday afternoons helping Rose pick berries, he’d had to complete several of his usual afternoon chores in the evening instead. Not that he regretted helping her, but it meant he hadn’t been able to search the woods near the property after supper as he’d intended. On Thursday he’d had some spare time, but it was pouring outside and Caleb couldn’t think of a convincing explanation for why he’d be walking around in the woods in that kind of weather, in the event someone saw him. Finally on Friday the rain tapered off and he seized the opportunity to go investigate the area while Rose, the girls and the guests were all in the dining hall serving and eating supper.

  But it turned out the fern and undergrowth were so dense he had barely covered a hundred yards before he became discouraged, realizing that if a thief had buried something there in the spring, it would be covered completely with foliage by now. How was he going to tell Ryan about this? After another twenty minutes of plodding through the forest, Caleb gave up and turned around.

  Tomorrow was a new day and he’d try again then. For now, his muscles ached and his mind was weary. If he were back in Wisconsin, he’d probably unwind by ordering a pizza and catching a Brewers game on TV, but tonight all Caleb wanted to do was to eat a big meal, take a shower, read the Bible and go to bed. It occurred to him he was becoming a little more like the Amish every day, and he hummed as he headed toward the dining hall for supper and a piece of Rose’s pie.

  Chapter Five

  After praying and giving careful consideration to Helen’s request, Rose decided she’d agree to make and set aside four extra pies for her daily, except on Sunday. This was in addition to the pies she’d put out on the stand for the general public. When she told her plan to Caleb and the girls at dinner on Friday night, Caleb sounded bewildered.

  “But she’s essentially a competitor,” he said. “Wouldn’t Sol and Nancy object to you helping her business?”

  Like so many of Caleb’s notions, this one struck Rose as odd. “How is she in competition with us? She runs a luxury Englisch inn on a busy lake. It’s not as if our customers will suddenly choose to go there instead, simply because she serves my pies. My ant and onkel would be pleased someone else could benefit from the farm Gott blessed them with, and they’d be happy I could earn extra money, too.”

  Eleanor chimed in, “And if you think about it, she could just show up early at the produce stand every morning and buy the pies before anyone else gets there. At least this way Rose will get double the money.”

  “Neh, I won’t,” Rose said. “I’ve decided it wouldn’t be right to charge her double.”

  Caleb seemed as nonplussed by this as Rose had been by his suggestion she shouldn’t help Helen’s business succeed. “It’s not as if you’re cheating her—she offered you double.”

  “Neh. A pie is a pie. The Lord despises unfair scales,” she responded, loosely quoting the Biblical proverb. Rose couldn’t fault Caleb and Eleanor’s reasoning as she’d wavered about the issue herself, but in the end, she knew charging one customer more than her other customers wouldn’t be pleasing to God.

  When Rose told Helen on Saturday she’d make the pies but couldn’t accept double payment, Helen seemed as puzzled as Caleb had appeared. She tried to persuade Rose to at least agree to what she called a “special order fee,” but Rose held firm. She explained the other terms of their arrangement—that Helen or her staff would pick up the pies at the produce stand so as not to disturb the guests by coming to the dining hall. “And I’d appreciate your understanding if unusual circumstances prevent me from baking on rare occasion,” Rose said.

  “Of course,” Helen chirped. When Rose extended her hand to shake on the deal, the way the Englisch did, Helen hugged her instead. Rose was surprised and pleased by the warm ges
ture.

  Since it was Saturday, Rose’s changeover chores kept her busy until almost four o’clock. She stole a moment to check on the raspberry bushes—it appeared some of them would be ready for harvesting next week—when she walked to the main road to retrieve the mail from its box. There were letters for the girls, as well as two for herself: one from Nancy and one from her mother. She waited until she was seated at the desk in the hall to read them.

  The letter from Rose’s aunt began with a description of the landscape. “I love the height of the trees in Maine but I’d forgotten how much I miss the wide-open farmland here in Ohio,” her aunt wrote. Then she said Sol had completed his first week of treatment with few adverse side effects so far. “Gott is good and we trust in His Providence.”

  Her letter continued, “As I wrote to Charity and Hope, I forgot to tell you we asked the deacon and his wife to worship with you on off-Sundays, so expect a visit from Abram and Jaala. I imagine you’ll have plenty of leftovers to serve for lunch.”

  Off-Sundays referred to every other Sabbath, when the Amish worshipped with their families at home instead of together as a congregation. Although Rose would have been perfectly comfortable worshipping with Hope, Charity and Caleb, she welcomed the opportunity to get to know Abram and Jaala better. Also, there was less chance Henry would come over and hang around for hours if the deacon was there.

  Nancy ended with a postscript: “How is Caleb working out? He seemed very nervous. I hope he feels at home and has settled in by now.” Recognizing her aunt’s not-so-subtle reminder to be welcoming and patient toward Caleb, Rose chuckled. Nancy would be pleased to know how well they were getting along.

  After refolding Nancy’s letter and setting it aside to read again later, she slit open the envelope from her mother. She took a deep breath and began to read. “Dear Rose,” it said. “This note probably finds you enjoying cool northern weather, but it is unseasonably hot and humid here. I noticed you didn’t take either of your sweaters with you when you left, so if you need me to send them, let me know.”