The Amish Sweet Shop Read online

  She was seated on the wooden stool, making boxes at the counter. The tiny white boxes she was making would hold just four chocolate truffles, or four pieces of fudge. Fudge was Jacob’s specialty, as Anna Lapp who’d come in to the shop had explained. Best fudge in Lancaster County and every woman in it wanted his secret recipe. Rose had been tempted to ask Anna some questions about Jacob. Had he really never walked out with a girl since he lost his betrothed? He was such a handsome man, she found that difficult to believe. She could also see the opposite argument. He wasn’t exactly easy to get along with.

  Rose reached for her marker. The boxes had seemed plain to her, even after she’d stamped the shop’s name and address on, so she’d dug up a red Sharpie from the little kitchen in the back and added a couple of hearts and curlicues. She glanced at the growing pile of boxes stacked one inside the other. They weren’t very Amish looking. When decoration was added to something, a carving in a bed or a dresser, the design was usually plain and based on nature: pine branches, a cluster of walnuts, or maybe a simple scroll. No hearts, and certainly not red ones. But in only two short days, Rose was getting to know their Englisher customers and she was certain they would like the boxes, still plain, but just a little fanciful.

  The overhead lighting flickered again and made a buzzing sort of sound. There were long fluorescent bulbs inside it. One or more needed to be changed. She knew it because her husband had had the same kind of overhead lights in his woodshop. She’d never changed a bulb herself; they were long, unwieldy glass tubes. But she’d watched Karl do it on more than one occasion, first bouncing their son on her knee, then trying to corral him so he wouldn’t get into his father’s tools. Their light had run on a generator. The Beechys used electricity here at the candy shop. A necessary evil Clara had explained to her. But fully approved by their bishop.

  Rose set down her marker and got up off the stool, studying the overhead light. She had seen the light bulbs in a box in the broom closet off the kitchen. And there was a ladder near the back door. She wasn’t very tall, but with the ladder it wouldn’t matter, not even with the high, ten-foot ceilings of the old house. She only hesitated a moment and then headed into the kitchen. Jacob wasn’t there, but there was a fresh batch of peanut butter caramel fudge cooling on the wooden counter. She snitched a bit of crumb as she went by. The man could make fudge, she’d give him that: creamy, sweet, and full of flavor.

  In the back, she retrieved the box of light bulbs first, which was almost as tall as she was. But not heavy, just cumbersome. It wasn’t until, on her second trip to the back, with the ladder, which was heavy, that Jacob pushed himself, in his office chair, out into the hall behind her.

  “Where are you going with that?” he called, his disapproval discernable in his voice.

  “The shop,” she answered, lugging the ladder into the kitchen. She was almost to the swinging doors before he appeared behind her.

  “Give me that.”

  “I’ve got it,” Rose answered cheerfully, trying to manage the door and the step ladder that was taller than she was.

  Jacob reached around her, his hands brushing hers as he took the ladder from her. “What are you doing with a ladder?” he demanded.

  She followed him into the shop and pointed at the flickering light overhead. It was almost dark outside now and the problem even more obvious. “I’m going to change the light bulbs.” She looked at him frowning at her and smiled. “Could be a fire hazard.”

  He exhaled impatiently, carried the ladder into the customer area, and plopped it down under the light fixture in the middle of the room. “You can’t climb this ladder and try to do that,” he grumbled, opening it. “You’ll break your neck.”

  She rested her hands on her hips, watching him climb the ladder. “I’ve used a ladder before. I can manage. And it needs to be done.”

  He shook his head. “Why didn’t you ask me?”

  She hesitated before she spoke. “Because you’re not exactly . . .”

  “Not exactly what?” He stopped halfway up the ladder and looked down at her.

  “Approachable,” she said softly. He met her gaze and there was something beyond the antagonism in his voice that suggested a vulnerability. In his heart. She was quite certain of it. “Admit it, Jacob. You don’t want me here.”

  He exhaled, holding her gaze a moment longer before he looked up at the light fixture again. “It’s not that I don’t want you here, Rose.”

  It was the first time he’d called her by name.

  “It’s just that . . .” He exhaled again. “I work better alone.”

  “Which isn’t always what’s best, is it? Because we’re not meant to be alone in this world. We’re meant to lean on each other. To help each other.”

  “You sound like my mother.”

  She looked up at him. “Is that a bad thing?”

  He looked down again and a smile came over him. Just a small one, but a smile nonetheless. “No, it’s not. Clara Beechy is the kindest, wisest woman . . . person I’ve ever known.” He suddenly looked embarrassed and clambered the rest of the way up the ladder. “This could have waited for another day,” he grumbled. “I’ve got things to do. The distributor sent the wrong cocoa and I have to order more before five.”

  She watched as, at the top of the ladder, he stretched to reach the far side where the cover to the recessed light released. She cringed as he leaned over. “You should probably move the ladder over and little to—”

  He leaned farther, going up on the toe of one boot.

  “Jacob—” She took a step to grab the ladder as she saw it come up off one leg.

  When bad things happen, people say it seems like everything moves in slow motion, but it had never been that way for Rose. When her parents and the bishop came to the door to tell her that Karl and her son were dead, it had been over in an instant, in one heart-stopping flash. And the same happened as she saw the ladder tip.

  “Jacob!”

  He tried to shift his weight back to right the ladder, but it was too late. And it was over before Rose could reach him.

  Jacob hit the wood floor hard, the ladder crashing down on top of him. If he made a sound as he hit, she didn’t hear it. Rose dropped to her knees beside him. He’d banged his head hard; she’d seen it bounce as he hit the floor.

  “Jacob?” she whispered. She reached out to brush his hair from his forehead so she could get a better look. It was a sandy blond and straight and thick and it smelled clean. He was going to have a nice-sized egg on the side of his head where he hit it. She could feel it already rising. But what if he’d hurt himself seriously? What if it was a brain injury? she wondered, trying not to panic. She quickly said a silent prayer.

  His eyes were closed.

  “Jacob?” she said again, her voice trembling. She reached out to touch his chest between his leather suspenders. The green shirt rose and fell beneath her hand. And he was warm. Very warm. “Jacob!” she said a little louder.

  “I’m just going to lie here,” he replied quietly. He still hadn’t opened his eyes. “Embarrassment. I think I’ll just lie here, and die of embarrassment.”

  Rose was so relieved that she laughed.

  His eyes flew open and she laughed again. Then she reached to brush the hair from his face again. When she realized the emotion she was feeling wasn’t just relief, but also tenderness, she pulled her hand back as if burned by melted chocolate. While Jacob’s bishop may have agreed to allow a single woman to work for a single man, stroking his hair while he was lying on the shop floor would definitely not be endorsed.

  “I’m sorry.” She tried not to laugh again, but couldn’t help herself. She was just so thankful he was all right, at least mentally. She’d had a neighbor back in Delaware who had fallen from a ladder and had never spoken again, never fed himself again. “Are you hurt badly?”

  He closed his eyes and then opened them again. “The ladder. Could you possibly get it off me?”

  “Oh!” She jumped up and grabbed the ladder and dragged it, scrapping it across the pretty plank floor.

  He sat up and caught his breath. Then he started to try to stand and sat down hard again.

  Rose immediately dropped to her knees in front of him. He looked as if he was going to pass out, he was so pale. “Just sit there for a second. Breathe. You hit your head pretty hard.”

  They were eye level and he met her gaze. His eyes were brown with streaks of green. Nice eyes. And nice teeth; unlike many Amish men she knew, he took care of them. His breath was slightly minty.

  “Would you like some help getting up?” she asked.

  He frowned. “I would not.” He started to get up again and this time cried out in pain, grabbing his knee. Tiny dots of perspiration beaded up on his forehead.

  Without waiting for his permission to help him this time, Rose grasped his arm, shifting some of his weight to her shoulder, and he slowly rose on the good leg. The moment he tried to put pressure on the injured one, though, he moaned and lowered his head.

  “I think it’s my knee,” he said, pain in his voice.

  She looked down at his knee and up at Jacob. Arm and arm like this, she felt strangely unsettled. It had been a very long time since she’d touched a man so intimately. “You need to go to the hospital and get an X-ray. It might be broken.”

  “Rose.” He swallowed hard, biting back his pain. “It’s not broken.”

  * * *

  “I can’t believe I broke my knee.” Jacob groaned, lowering himself into the easy chair in his parlor, cozy now that Rose had stoked the woodstove. Not only had she warmed up the house, but it now smelled of soup bubbling on the stove and biscuits she was reheating in the oven.

  He was still embarrassed, hours after the incident. He couldn’
t believe he had fallen off a ladder, right in front of Rose. Especially after he’d just lectured her about it not being safe for her. And now, hours later, she was still right here. Still with him. He couldn’t decide if he was relieved she’d been here to help him into his house or mortified. Of course, the place was as neat as a pin, even in his mother’s absence. It wasn’t that. It was just that he wasn’t keen on someone seeing him so vulnerable. He wasn’t keen on Rose seeing him this way.

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Accidents happen.” Rose took from him the crutches that had been given to him in the emergency room. “It could have been so much worse. I told you about my neighbor. And my uncle Abel fell out of his wagon while unloading grain and broke a leg and an arm. You could have been killed if you’d hit your head harder.”

  Jacob frowned. He was hungry and tired and not only did his knee hurt like the dickens, but so did his head. No concussion, thankfully. But now that they were home from the hospital, the reality of his situation was sinking in. His kneecap was broken, and the doctor had made it very clear that it would be six to eight weeks before Jacob could put weight on it. And if he did try to walk on it too soon, he’d need surgery and that would lay him up for months.

  Six to eight weeks? How was he going to get the orders made in time for Valentine’s Day? That was only two weeks away now. He could suddenly imagine that big store going up a few miles away; he could see his customers passing through Bluebird, on their way to get their reduced-price chocolates made from machines in far-away countries. He could imagine boarding up Beechy’s Sweets forever.

  “I’m going to get you that soup before I go.” Rose rested the crutches within his reach and pushed a footstool closer to him. “Elevate it. I’ll get some more ice for the ice bag.”

  “The driver’s outside waiting to take you home.” Jacob used both hands to lift his leg and prop it on the stool. “You should go.”

  “And what? You’re going to hop into the kitchen, get your soup, and then hop it back in here?” She rested her hand on her hip. It was a motion he’d seen her do several times now. Mostly when she was frustrated with him.

  But he couldn’t be annoyed with her. She’d been so good through the whole thing. Not every woman could handle an emergency the way she had. Certainly not a single woman without the experience of running a household. There had been no hysterics, which was interesting because his Adel would burst into tears if she dropped a cup of coffee. But not Rose. Rose had been calm and reassuring, concerned, without being stifling in her attention. After he fell, she’d helped him to a chair and then started making calls from the list of Mennonite and English drivers his mother kept by the phone. And she hadn’t given up until she’d found someone who could take them to the hospital in Lancaster and then home. Once she’d secured a driver, she’d locked up the shop and gone with him to the emergency room, even though he’d told her time and time again that he could go alone. And now here she was in his home, getting him soup before she left him.

  “John Junior brought your buggy home from the shop, put up your horse, milked your cow, and fed up for the night. He’ll be back tomorrow morning to milk and feed. By tomorrow night, he’ll have some folks organized to help you out until you’re able.”

  Jacob stared at the leg brace on his knee; it fit over his work pants but went from mid-calf to mid-thigh. “I can take care of my animals myself.”

  “Probably. But not for a few days. And this will give you a chance to let people return kindnesses. Junior said you milked cows for Joe Yoder for two weeks when their little one was in the hospital at Christmastime. And when Eli and Sarah Mast had the fire last fall, they stayed here with you a month until their house was suitable for living. With three children.” She was waggling her finger at him. She was bossy for a single Amish woman. An employee.

  “They were little children,” he protested. “Hardly heard or saw them, me being at the shop most days.

  “We’re not going to argue about this, Jacob. Not tonight. You need to eat and get to bed. It’s a good thing your bedroom is downstairs. Stairs and crutches don’t mix well. Now tomorrow morning, I’ll be by. I don’t have my own buggy and horse. We’ll have to use yours, but I can hitch up just fine. Junior will bring me when he comes to milk. You and I’ll get to the shop and figure out where we go from there.”

  He looked up at her. She was a small woman, not thin, not heavy. Sturdy, but in a good way. And pretty, even prettier than he had realized. The light from the kerosene lamp she’d lit created a hallo around her head, making her look something like an engel he’d seen portrayed in picture books.

  He had to shake the thought from his head. “Where we go from there? From where?” he asked, trying to bite back his anger.

  He wasn’t angry at her. He was angry at himself for being so reckless. Maybe if he hadn’t been so busy looking at Rose, trying to be clever, maybe he wouldn’t have fallen. “I can tell you where we go from here. Tomorrow I call my customers and cancel the big orders. There’s no way I can make fudge at the stove, leaning on those crutches. I won’t be able to lift the kettle. And you heard the doctor; he said that for the first week I really shouldn’t be on my feet any more than necessary.” He shook his head. “I suppose I should call Mam, but even if she comes home, there isn’t any way—”

  “We’re not calling Clara,” Rose interrupted. “She’s not coming home. We’re not ruining her trip over this little hiccup.” She frowned and pointed at him again. “And you’re not cancelling the orders.”

  “Hiccup? You think this is a hiccup?” He pushed his hair off his forehead. She’d taken his hat from him when they’d come inside and hung it on a peg in the kitchen. “Rose, this isn’t a hiccup, it’s a disaster.”

  “It’s not a disaster. Your husband and little boy being killed in a buggy accident is a disaster,” she said, her voice softening. “This is just a hiccup. We’re going to figure it out.”

  He studied her face in the pale light. He couldn’t tell if she was talking about another family incident because almost every Amish man and woman knew of someone killed in a buggy accident. . . or about herself. For some reason, he’d assumed she was single because she’d never married. It hadn’t occurred to him that she might be widowed. How could it not have occurred to him?

  The realization that she could have suffered such a loss made him feel foolish for being upset over his injury. Over orders for fudge for an Englisher holiday. He wasn’t an unkind man. How had he been so thoughtless? He wanted to ask Rose whose husband and son had died in a buggy accident, but he sensed this wasn’t the time. He sensed he already knew the answer by the look on her face.

  Instead of asking her about the buggy accident, gentling his tone, he said, “I appreciate your encouragement, but who’s going to make the fudge?”

  She smiled and turned away, striding out of the parlor. “I am, Jacob,” she threw over her shoulder. “And you’re going to teach me.”

  Chapter 4

  Rose rode beside Jacob in the buggy, hoping she didn’t look as nervous as she felt. Taking care of him the previous day hadn’t been difficult. She was good in an emergency, and she was good at managing a crisis when she had tasks to perform. What she wasn’t good with was conversation. Being alone with someone like this. With a man. With Jacob, sitting close in the buggy, with only her lunch pail between them on the buggy bench.

  He had been in a bad mood when she arrived at his farm with Junior. But she didn’t take his crankiness personally. She knew he was frustrated by his injury and probably a little embarrassed by his fall. After all, he had just given her a lecture about how she’d fall if she climbed the ladder.

  She sneaked a glance at him. He looked handsome this morning in his denim coat and wide-brimmed wool hat. He had shaved; unmarried Amish men didn’t have beards. And he smelled of Ivory soap, fresh and clean. She liked a man who didn’t smell of the barn.

  Rose had offered to drive the buggy, but after awkwardly managing to get in without bending his knee, he’d taken the reins from her without a response. And now they were almost to Bluebird. She’d meant what she said the previous evening when she told him she thought they could still make the fudge for the orders, but this morning she was having second thoughts. Not so much because she didn’t think she could learn to make it, but because she wasn’t sure she wanted to work so closely with Jacob. The previous day, while waiting for X-rays, he had been so nice that she’d thought maybe his interest in her went beyond the attention of an employer with an employee. But by his behavior this morning, she’d been mistaken; he clearly didn’t like her.