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She grimaced as the toe of her built-up shoe hit the edge of Isaac’s booth, but kept a smile plastered on her face. “Let me pour you a fresh cup of coffee.” She went to pour, and before she could stop him, he reached for the tiny container of milk next to his cup.
Hot coffee splashed his wrist and shirt cuff. He jerked his hand away and reached for a napkin. “Do you really work here, or are you following me around, making sure I get hurt at least once a day?”
She spoke before she thought, her temper spiked by her throbbing toes and his grumpy words. “Has anyone ever pointed out how rude you are?” She put the carafe on the table harder than necessary. Her hands on her narrow hips, she glared at him, her smile gone. “If not, let me be the first. You are no ray of sunshine, Isaac Graber, and in future I’ll make sure another waitress comes to your table to abuse you.”
“That’s fine.” He sipped at his coffee and completely ignored her.
“Fine.” Molly turned on her heel and marched back to her section of the café, her fists clenched, and feeling more like a petulant child than a grown woman.
Willa Mae flipped several pancakes and then motioned Molly over to the service window. “You’re as red as summer sandals. What happened? That guy get fresh with you?”
“That guy is Isaac Graber, one of my mamm’s new boarders. Sometimes he makes me so mad.”
“Let me guess. Did he pinch your backside, child?”
“No, not at all. He’s...” Molly’s voice trailed off as she searched for the right word. “He’s not exactly weird, you know, just kind of friendly one minute and helpful and then he goes all strange and acts the fool.”
“Oh. I get it. He’s not showing enough interest in you and you’re mad.”
Molly straightened her kapp, tied her apron on a bit tighter and snapped, “Nee, that’s not it at all. He keeps accusing me of hurting him on purpose, like I spend my whole day thinking up ways to cause him pain.”
“You hitting on my customers?”
“You know perfectly well I’m not. Well... I did hit him in the head with a dust mop the other day, but that was completely his fault, not mine.”
Sliding a plate of golden pancakes Molly’s way, Willa Mae smiled, her dark weave shiny after standing over the hot grill all morning. “This story just keeps getting better and better. Tell me everything. When are you two making your announcement in church?”
Molly shot her best friend and boss a look that said it all. “These pancakes go to your gentleman at table six. Enjoy!” Willa Mae grinned.
* * *
Four hours later a midday band of rain swept in from the coast, surprising Isaac and leaving him a prisoner in his own shop. An hour passed. Not one customer came through the shop door. His early-morning meal at the café was nothing but a pleasant memory.
He rubbed his stomach. The wonderful aroma of hot pizza mingled with the less appealing odors of grease and dirt, but still his stomach stirred. An hour later it continued to rumble loudly, begging for lunch. He downed another bottle of water and tried not to think about food, especially the pizza shop next door. He wasn’t about to trust his leg and poor balance on the slippery sidewalk outside. He would wait until the rain stopped.
There wasn’t much he could do to pass the time while still on crutches. He called several cleaning businesses and wrote down price quotes. Sticker shock took away some of his appetite. The amounts asked to clear out the trash from the old building was enough to buy another electric golf cart. He’d need more carts to lease to the snowbirds pouring into Pinecraft from the north. The winter tourist season would quickly pass. Every day the bike shop wasn’t open he was losing money—money he needed for a permanent place to live.
A feeling of defeat swamped him as he looked around the shop, at shelves falling off the walls, trash littering the floor. An ache began to thump at the base of his skull.
The roar of a high octane engine pulling up to the curb outside drew his attention. He rose, shoving aside pieces of a dismantled blue cart in order to maneuver toward the front door. He leaned against one crutch as he wiped away some of the dried white paint swirled on the storefront windows to block out the sun.
The side door of a black van labeled Fischer Transport opened and he was surprised to see Molly jumping to the pavement, followed by several stocky Amish men. Women in tidy prayer kapps and plain dresses in a variety of shapes and colors followed close behind. Isaac opened the shop door and was inundated with slaps on the back, smiling faces and so many introductions he’d never remember them all.
Busy shaking hands with the men and nodding to the women, Isaac took time to glance at Molly and return her enthusiastic grin. Her warm brown eyes seemed to be saying, you didn’t think I’d leave you to clean up this mess on your own, did you?
A tall, curly-haired blond man with powerful shoulders and a firm handshake squeezed Isaac’s hand. “Willkumm to Pinecraft, Herr Graber. I’m Mose Fischer and this is my bruder’s son, Wilhelm. I’ve heard a lot about you from Molly. I thought I’d come see this youngie she speaks of so fondly, with his fine mind for motors and winning personality.”
Isaac nodded at the tall man and the skinny teenage boy standing next to him and smiled his welcome as he readjusted the crutch shaken loose from under his arm. “Molly’s been talking to you about me?”
“Ya, she has. Nasty bump you’ve got there.”
Isaac’s gaze skimmed the bland expression Molly directed his way. Had she told him what really happened? As if feeling guilty, she looked down, busying herself with a pile of magazines on the floor. “Ya. Like a bensel I fell over my own feet.”
“So I heard.” Mose winked, telling Isaac he knew what had really happened. “I hope you don’t mind us coming to help. We may live in a tourist town, but I think you’ll find Pinecraft’s a strong Amish community, ready to help out in times of need.” He slapped Isaac on the back. “Besides, I have an ulterior motive. One of my little girls has a bike that needs a tube replaced, and I don’t have time to work on it. You’ll find we do a lot of bike riding around here. There’s a real need for this shop to be up and running, for the community’s sake, as well as your own.”
Isaac looked around at the smiling people. They all seemed ready to work. He sent a grin of appreciation Molly’s way. She’d gathered this mob of workers for him, even though he’d been rude to her at breakfast this morning. He owed her a debt of gratitude. He’d find a way to pay her kindness.
Mose pulled on the arm of an Englischer man in jeans and a white T-shirt who was busy working on organizing parts against the wall. “Let me introduce you to one of our local police officers, Bradley Ridgeway.”
Smiling, his arm full of bike tubes and tires, Officer Ridgeway extended his free hand. “Glad to meet you, Isaac. Anytime you need help, you just let me know. I’ve got two sons who love their bikes. They’re going to be glad to hear the bike shop’s opening again.”
Isaac shook the man’s hand, but shame made him avoid looking directly in his eyes. “Danke,” Isaac managed to croak out. He turned away, pretending to be looking for something in the old desk in the office.
Molly moved close to him. He watched her as she and a well-rounded, middle-aged woman navigated a cluster of men working along the back wall. She caught his eye and motioned for him to join them.
“This is Becky Esch, our local baker,” Molly said, and linked her arm through the woman’s.
The older Amish woman smiled up at him, her startling blue eyes reminding him of his mother. Heavyhearted, Isaac nodded, quickly pushing away the momentary sadness that threatened to overwhelm him. “Ah...you must have been the one who made those wonderful doughnuts someone was passing around,” he said.
“Ya, well. Single men need nourishment, I always say, especially when they’re working this hard. I have an idea. Why don’t you come eat dinner with us some Saturday night? The girls and I could use some company. We get lonesome now that Zelner’s passed on to be with the Lord. It’ll be nice to have a man at the head of our table for a change.”
He glanced at Molly. The people crowded into the bike shop were her friends, not his. He wasn’t sure what to say, but relaxed when Molly grinned at him with a twinkle in her eyes. “Ya, sure,” he said. “That would be fine. Danke.”
“Gut. The girls and I will expect you at six next Saturday. And make sure you bring your appetite.”
As the woman walked away, Molly giggled under her breath and poked him in the rib.
“What’s so funny?” he whispered, his head tilting her way.
“You have no idea what you just stepped into,” Molly said, laughing with all the joy of a five-year-old. “Becky Esch has two old-maid daughters and she’s just set a trap for you.”
“You could have warned me,” Isaac scolded.
Molly’s brows went up as her smile deepened. “I could have,” she said, then straightened the ribbons on her kapp as she turned her back on him and shouldered her way through the throng of workers.
Isaac’s eyes narrowed as he noticed the slight limp in her gait. He didn’t know what to think of their push-pull relationship, but knew he’d better work harder at keeping his distance from her. Molly was the kind of woman he’d choose if he were looking for someone to court. But after what he’d done to Thomas, there was no chance he would risk getting married any time soon. If ever.
Chapter Four
Molly hummed as she worked for an hour in the hot kitchen, preparing rosemary pork chops, roasted new potatoes with chives and fresh green beans slathered in butter and onion sauce for later that night. A homemade cheesecake drizzled in thick strawberry syrup sat waiting on the kitchen counter. The meal begged for her mamm to come home with an appetite, but at 6:00 p.m. the house remained quiet and still.
Dinnertime came and went. Darkness shrouded the plain, wood-framed house, the only home she had ever known. The old clock in the front room chimed seven times before Molly rose from the kitchen table, flipped on the light over the sink and stored the uneaten meal into containers. She cleaned up the dirty pans and was wiping the last of the crumbs off the counter as Isaac walked through the back door, his face etched with tired lines from his long day at work.
“Something sure smells gut in here. Am I too late for dinner?”
Molly beamed, her mood lifting, glad for company and conversation, even if it was only Isaac. “Nee, not at all.” She pulled out a kitchen chair. “Come. Sit. Let me heat some food for you.”
Isaac removed his hat and tossed it on the spare kitchen chair. He ran his fingers though his hair before he sat. “No other houseguests tonight?”
“Nee. Our last short-term guest left early this morning. She’s on her way to see her sister in Lakeland, but she’ll probably stop for another night with us on her way back to Ohio. Seems everyone else went to Pinecraft Park for the bluegrass singing tonight.” She pulled the containers of food out of the refrigerator and then turned back to Isaac, her curiosity getting the better of her. “Is the shop ready to be opened yet?”
“I think so. I still need some parts, but they should get here in a few days.”
He flashed a grin at her that played havoc with Molly’s insides. She ignored the feeling and shoved their plates into the still-hot oven. “Gott brought you here. He’ll make sure the customers come through the doors, Isaac. We have to trust His will. Why don’t you clean up a bit while the food’s heating?”
He looked down at his dusty clothes and reached for his crutches. “Gut idea. I think I will.” He rose, wincing as he put his weight on his leg. “I won’t be long.”
She watched him lumber out of the kitchen, his limp more noticeable than it had been in days. Her heart went out to him. Pain was a lousy friend. She knew. She’d lived with it long enough.
Turning on another light to dispel the nuance of an intimate setting, she puttered around the kitchen, putting an extra place mat on the table, then some silverware. A tub of locally made butter was set in the middle of the table.
She stood still for a moment, listening to the sounds Isaac made at the back of the house. Just as she put down the bread plates and poured tall glasses of cold milk, he hurried back into the kitchen wearing clean work clothes, his hair slicked back from his thin face.
“I hope you don’t mind if we eat in the kitchen. It’s just you and me tonight,” Molly said. “I waited for Mamm, but she must have gotten held up.” Her mother usually served the last meal of the day in the more formal dining room, around the big wooden table that was large enough to seat twelve for Thanksgiving and Christmas.
Isaac returned to the chair he’d been sitting in moments before and leaned his crutches close by. “Ya, sure. Here is fine,” he said, taking a sip of milk.
She pulled the rack of reheated chops out of the stove. “I hope you like stuffed pork chops.”
“I do. They’re my favorite,” he murmured, watching her.
She placed the largest chop on Isaac’s warmed plate. “Would you like some cinnamon?” A bottle of the tangy spice hovered over the generous mound of homemade applesauce Molly had served him.
He nodded. “Sounds gut.” He tucked his napkin on his lap.
Molly carried the two plates she’d prepared to the table and placed one in front of Isaac before sitting across from him. “Salt and pepper is on the table if you need it.”
He glanced at the salt shaker close to him and then glanced back at her, a slight smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “Before we pray I want to thank you for all the help you brought to the shop today.”
“I’m glad we could contribute,” Molly said, not wanting to delve into her own motives too deeply. She owed him. That was all. He wasn’t the only one who could be a hero.
“You did more than help. I would have never been able to get the shop as clean and organized as it is now without all those additional hands. I owe you, and the kind people of Pinecraft.”
“All I did was call my brother-in-law, Mose. Once he heard about your situation, he made the calls and did the rest.”
“So Mose is family?” Isaac asked.
“Ya, he was married to my sister, Greta, but she went home to be with the Lord three years ago.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
She was surprised by the sound of sincerity in Isaac’s voice. Memories of Greta, her smile, the way she found good in everyone, came rushing back. Molly took a deep breath and ignored the pain prodding her heart. With a jerk of her head, she nodded. “Thank you, Isaac. I still miss her, but Gott had a plan. We don’t always understand, but we will once we can sit down and talk with Him.”
“Let’s pray so we can eat,” Isaac suggested, and bowed his head.
Moments later Molly lifted her chin and found herself grinning as Isaac tore into his food with the gusto of a starving man.
“That strawberry cheesecake on the counter looks special. Somebody’s birthday today?” he asked, his eyes shifting back to Molly. He sliced off a large piece of pork chop and stuck it into his mouth.
“Ya. Mine.”
“Happy birthday! How old are you?”
She dipped her head, ashamed to admit she was so old and still not married. “Twenty-one, but it’s no big deal. Mamm and I usually just celebrate alone with a home-cooked meal when it’s one of our birthdays.” Molly clasped her hands in her lap, putting on a bright smile she didn’t feel.
“Birthdays are always special, Molly. Especially when it’s your twenty-first.”
“Ya, I guess,” she murmured, her appetite disappearing. “It’s such a big deal, Mamm didn’t bother to show up for the event,” she muttered.
“I’m sorry.”
Molly tucked into her potatoes, determined to change the subject. “Ya, well, it doesn’t matter.” Not to Mamm it doesn’t.
* * *
A half hour later Ulla placed her purse on the cleared kitchen table, along with a small bag from the new bookstore in town. “I’ve been with John all day,” she said casually. “How was your day, Molly?”
“Fine.” Molly stayed quiet. Isaac had gone to bed, and she’d been left to finish the last of the cleaning up.
“Have you heard from Samuel today? He wanted to know when you two could start courting.”
“I have no interest in Samuel, Mamm. I told you this already.”
“Well, he has an interest in you, and I think it’s time you begin to show an interest in him.”
Molly ignored her mamm and left the kitchen, her head held high. It was her birthday, and all her mother could do was talk of Samuel Bawell. She had forgotten her birthday completely. Not that her forgetting was anything new or surprising. She often forgot Molly existed, unless there was a chore to be done that she didn’t want to do herself. Molly was still treated like an unwanted child, and she was tired of it.
Greta had always been her mother’s favorite daughter. When Greta died in childbirth, Beatrice and Mercy, Mose and Greta’s tiny daughters, had taken her sister’s place of importance in her mother’s heart. Molly didn’t blame the girls. They were beautiful, like their mother, not plain like her. The bobbels were blessings from Gott. She adored them like any devoted aunt would. They were innocent children and had no idea their grossmammi played favorites and made her younger daughter feel inferior.
Molly closed her bedroom door and leaned against it. Tears began to flow until her eyes burned with grit. She hated when people wallowed in self-pity, and here she was feeling sorry for herself, with a great big hole in her heart.
In the dark she walked across the small room and sat at her dressing table. With the flick of her wrist, she turned on her lamp and pulled the pins from her kapp and bun. She massaged her scalp, her blond hair falling like a heavy curtain down her back. Reluctantly she looked into the mirror. Her eyes were puffy, her lashes dark with tears. Her nose was red in the semidarkness of the room. She pulled her grossmammi’s brush through the tangles on her head and winced as it caught in her hair. She ignored the pain and lifted her hands to braid the long strands into a thick plait.
She stared at herself in the mirror. No longer a girl, but a woman of twenty-one now. An adult...limited by one leg shorter than the other, unmarried, not being courted by a man she could love, still living with her mamm. Failure looked back at her in the brown eyes of the woman she’d become.
She turned off her lamp, knocking over her dressing-table stool as she rose and blindly moved toward the tallboy dresser against the wall. In the dark she grabbed a nightgown from the drawer. The soft cotton gown smelled of lilacs, homemade washing soap and good, fresh air.
Tomorrow things were going to change. She’d come up with a new plan for her life. She’d learn to stand up for herself. She had to, or she’d fast find herself married to Samuel Bawell.
* * *
The next day the bell over the door rang, announcing another customer. Isaac was filled with excitement. He’d been busy selling, renting and repairing bikes all day. He’d sold his last two secondhand golf carts and left a voice mail with his supplier, telling him he needed to purchase two more used carts for repair and sale. After today he’d have no problem paying next month’s bills and still have money left over to buy a few supplies.
He looked up and was surprised to find Molly wandering around the shop. Today her pale pink dress put a healthy glow to her cheeks. She looked pretty, but then she always looked fresh and tidy to him. Even last night, with her joy robbed by her mother’s failure to celebrate her birthday, she’d seemed content with his company. He wasn’t sure what it was about her, but he enjoyed the way she made him feel when she was around.
He usually wasn’t one to be impressed with good looks. Before he’d come to Pinecraft, a good personality always got his attention first. But Molly seemed to radiate a special light from her dark eyes. And there was something about her tiny frame that made her look frail and helpless even though she was strong and capable, with a personality to match. “I’m surprised to see you here. Shopping for a new cart? The one you drive should be put in the town dump as a relic.” He smiled, waiting for reaction.
Her forehead wrinkled in response to his words. “There’s nothing wrong with my cart, and this is no time for teasing, Isaac Graber. I’ve come to talk to you about a serious matter.”
He noticed her dark eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. Concern washed over him. Over the past few days, he’d seen Molly in many moods, but nothing like this melancholy state of mind. “What’s wrong?” he asked, motioning for her to sit on the old couch.
She moved a few magazines and sat. “I don’t know where to start. You’re probably not the right person to talk to. I don’t even know if you consider me a friend.” Molly’s expression was grim, her mouth an angry line.
Isaac lowered himself into the seat next to her. He took her hand in his, considered the fine, delicate bones that held such strength. “Ya, of course you’re my friend. Don’t be silly. This shop wouldn’t be open today if it wasn’t for your thoughtfulness. You talk. I’ll listen.”
Molly sniffed, dabbing at her nose with her handkerchief. “My mamm and I had a fuss this morning.” Molly took in a deep breath. “She’s made a ridiculous demand, and I’m not putting up with it anymore. I’ve made a decision, and it might be the worst mistake I’ll ever make.”
Isaac thought back to the mistakes he’d made the day Thomas died. Choices that cost Thomas his life. Isaac understood regret only too well.
Hoping to cheer her up, Isaac smiled as he spoke in a teasing manner, “Ya, go on. Tell me about this terrible mistake you’re about to make.”
“It’s not that easy to talk about.” She looked up, and her frown deepened. “I don’t know why I came here.” She twisted her hand away from him. “I should go back home, take a nap. Anything to stop worrying.” She tried to stand, but he pulled her back to the couch. With trembling fingers, she pushed away the wisps of hair in her face as she looked at him. “I can be such a fool, Isaac.”
“You’re many things, Molly Ziegler, but foolish is not one of them. I see a strong woman before me. Someone who loves deeply and has a heart of compassion. I see no fool.” Their gaze held, eyes searching. Molly’s brokenhearted expression tugged at his soul. He felt emotions that were foreign to him, feelings that scared and excited him. At that moment he would give her the moon if he could, anything to bring back her joy.
Molly blinked, her head turning away. “I...” She began again. “I really need your help. I know I’m asking a lot, and you can always say no, but I don’t know who else to turn to, and if I don’t find an answer, I could end up married to a man I don’t love, maybe even be unchurched if I refuse to wed.”
“Tell me what you need me to do.”
Her chin dropped against her chest. “My mamm has plans, plans that don’t set well with me.”
“What sort of plans?” Isaac’s stomach knotted.
“She insists I court—nee—marry Samuel Bawell.” She tugged at her prayer kapp ribbon as she turned to look at him, tears pooling in her eyes. “I know everyone thinks he’s such a good man, but he’s not. I’ve seen a different side to him, one that concerns me.” A single tear clung to her damp lashes and then dropped to her cheek. “He can be rough and demanding when he doesn’t get his way and then go all sweet and gentle like it never happened. Mamm says it’s just my imagination, but it’s not. I won’t marry him, Isaac. Not without love.” Her gaze smoldered with raw, mixed emotions.
Isaac squeezed her warm hand, wishing he had the right words to comfort her. Arranged marriages still happened in his community back home, but most youngies picked their own mates nowadays. “She threatened to force you into this loveless marriage knowing how you feel?”
“Ya, and she will if it suits her purpose.” She sighed deeply and slowly as she tugged at her kapp ribbon again, her expression grim.