The Amish Sweet Shop Page 6

  In the close quarters of the buggy, Rose had smelled of wet wool and fresh fastnachts. Homemade donuts she’d brought to share with him for lunch. She’d packed sausage patties and biscuits, too. They’d shared tea and donuts in the little kitchen in the back, and she’d laughed at him when he’d split a donut in half and slid a piece of sausage between the two pieces. Jacob had been disappointed when she’d declared it was time to get to work and left him in the kitchen to finish his tea alone.

  “So, Jacob, is it?” his mother asked, bringing him out of his thoughts.

  “Is what—Sorry, Mam. What did you ask?”

  “The fudge making. Is it going well? Dorcas Lapp wrote me to say she’d been in the shop the other day and the two of you were busy beavers, you and Rose. She said you hired another girl. Do you think you’ll have the orders together in time to deliver them to the Englishers?”

  “I can’t say,” he admitted. “Rose says we will. But you know how she is.”

  “How’s that?”

  “You know . . .” He searched for the right words. “Optimistic.”

  His mother laughed on the other end of the phone. He tried not to smile.

  “And is that a bad thing?”

  “Ne . . . yes. Can be if it’s not realistic.” He exhaled impatiently. He didn’t like the emotions bubbling up inside him. He didn’t like thinking so much about Rose and what she thought and what she said. He didn’t like caring what she thought. “I’m trying to be realistic. I think I should at least cancel the one big order for Amish market. They don’t just want fifteen pounds of fudge. There’s truffles, too. Twenty dozen. Boxed,” he added.

  “I know you won’t make the fudge until you’re a week out, but you could start making the truffles now. Once they’re dipped, they’ll stay fresh in the walk-in.”

  “That’s what Rose said,” he grumbled.

  Again, his mother laughed. “How’s the knee?”

  “Fine.”

  “You staying off it?”

  “I should go. Work to be done.”

  “Ya, sohn, you have a lot of truffles to make.”

  He wanted to tell her this was no joking matter. His was worried about his livelihood. About being able to take care of the farm, of her. And even his future. The previous night he’d dreamed he had a son. A little brown-haired boy with cornflower-blue eyes. He knew his mother’s greatest wish was to have grandchildren. His hope for children had died with Adel. But his dream had been so vivid. And he’d woke missing the little boy he’d held on his knee.

  “Put Rose on the phone.”

  “She has customers.”

  “Ach, let Lydie wait on them. That was smart of you to hire her.”

  “Take care of yourself, Mam. Don’t let Sadie overwork you.”

  “Nonsense. Mostly I sit and rock that sweet baby. I’ll call again later in the week,” his mother said. “Take care of yourself. Now let me talk to Rose.”

  Jacob tucked the phone under his arm and leaned against the wall for a moment. Then he called loudly, “Rose!”

  A moment later, she stuck her head through the doorway. She had what looked suspiciously like a smudge of fudge at the corner of her mouth. “Ya?”

  “My mother. She wants to speak to you. I told her you were busy, but—”

  “Ne, I’ll take it. Lydie has everything under control. By the way, Mrs. Cranston, the lady down the street in the blue house, she said to tell you she loves the new peanut butter fudge recipe. She came back for another pound. We’ll have to make more.” She took the phone from him. “Clara!”

  “What new peanut butter fudge recipe?” Jacob demanded. “You weren’t supposed to put that batch out.”

  “Everything is just fine.” Rose turned and walked back into the shop, leaving Jacob to stand there watching the doors swing shut.

  Chapter 5

  Rose looked up from the box of truffles she was packing to see her cousins Mary and Hannah coming through the door, their black wool capes covered in a dusting of snow. Both were rosy-cheeked and laughing, carrying cloth bags of purchases on their arms.

  “Rose!” Mary’s sister greeted as she closed the door against the sharp wind. “Sorry it’s taken me so long to stop by. We’ve been so busy at the hardware shop.” She glanced around the candy shop. “How’s it going? With you know who,” she added softly, a hint of conspiracy in her tone.

  Rose came off the stool behind the counter, her eyes widening as she looked at Mary. She wondered what Mary had told her sister. When Rose had admitted to Mary that she found Jacob attractive, she had assumed it had been in confidence, but then she’d not said it was a secret. And the truth was, women did like to talk romance; potential romance, romance lost, it didn’t matter. Women had since the beginning of time, according to her grandmother Lena.

  “I didn’t say a thing,” Mary defended, keeping her voice down. “Only that the two of you were getting along. Well . . . at least that he hadn’t fired you yet.” Then she mouthed, Where is he?

  “Office in the back,” Rose answered, closing the lid on a twelve-piece truffle box. She added a little red foil heart sticker to seal it. She’d bought them from the general store down the street in the section where the town’s Englishers bought Valentine’s Day cards. No doubt Jacob wouldn’t be pleased when he saw them, but she’d sold two boxes of truffles that morning to customers who made a point of saying they liked the foil heart stickers.

  “Well . . . that Jacob is a handsome, eligible bachelor. Even if he is cranky,” Hannah teased with a smile. “He owns a farm and this shop and he’s well respected in the church,” she added. “You could do worse than walking out with him, cousin.”

  “I’m not walking out with Jacob,” Rose argued, feeling a little bit like she was in her early twenties again, talking with girlfriends about going to singings and riding home with a boy.

  It was the way her Old Order community back in Delaware had dated. Young, unmarried women and men met for various activities sanctioned by the church, which gave them an opportunity to mingle, while still being well chaperoned. At the end of an evening, a boy had the option to ask a girl if she’d like to ride home with him. It was the way she had met Karl, who’d been visiting family in Chestnut Grove. They met at a taffy pull and married six months later.

  Hannah walked over to the display table of brightly colored sweets in jars. “Red licorice,” she exclaimed. “I do love red licorice. I may just have to have a few whips.”

  Mary stepped closer to the counter, removing her black bonnet. “Did you say anything to Jacob about the fundraiser Wednesday night at the schoolhouse?” she asked Rose, smoothing her white prayer kapp.

  Rose frowned. “No, I didn’t say anything to him about the fundraiser.” She slid the boxes into the display case next to a tray of single truffles she’d hand dipped that morning while Lydie ran the cash register. Lydie had gone home early to go to a dentist appointment.

  “It’s a good cause. Maybe Jacob would like to come. Barbara and Eli’s little Jesse will be having his surgery in another week. They say he’ll be running again by summer.”

  Rose nodded. Little Jesse Fisher has been born with a heart defect and he was scheduled for surgery in a children’s hospital in Philadelphia. The Amish didn’t have medical insurance, so it was up to families and the community to pay the bills as needed.

  “It is a good cause,” Rose agreed. She’d actually considered inviting Jacob. She thought it might be good for him to get out in the community and do something social. With his mother out of town, he had to be lonely, there at the farmhouse by himself at night and on the weekend. But in the end, she hadn’t invited him because a part of her was afraid he would say no. And then she would be disappointed.

  “You should ask Jacob.”

  The swinging doors between the kitchen and the shop sprang open and Jacob hobbled in on his crutches. “Who should ask me what?” He nodded to Mary. “Good to see you, Mary.” He looked to Hannah who was fishing licorice whips out of a jar. “Hannah, how are things at the hardware store?”

  “Things are goot. And it’s goot to see you on your feet,” Hannah responded.

  “Rose says you’re getting along well.” Mary nodded in his direction. “She says the crutches are barely holding you back. Everyone in Bluebird is saying a prayer, hoping your candy orders will make it to Lancaster in time for the silly Englisher holiday.”

  “Not holding me back one bit.” Jacob glanced at Rose as if to suggest she shouldn’t have said anything to them about his concerns. “We’ve actually agreed to some additional orders.” He steadied himself on his crutches. “What were you talking about? Who should ask me what?”

  Mary glanced at Rose and Rose could feel herself blushing. She wondered if Jacob had been listening on the other side of the door and hoped she hadn’t said anything inappropriate. For a man on crutches, he certainly could move quietly when he wanted to.

  “We were talking about the fundraiser at our schoolhouse tomorrow night. It’s supper and an auction to benefit the little Fisher boy’s heart surgery,” Mary explained.

  Jacob halted beside Rose behind the counter. “Mm-hmm,” he acknowledged.

  “Everyone’s invited. It’s eight dollars at the door for as much chicken and dumplings a person can eat. Hannah and I were just going around collecting donations for the silent auction.” She smiled prettily. “We were wondering if you’d like to make a donation.”

  He glanced at Rose. “Of course.” He nodded in the direction of the two boxes of truffles she had just sealed with the foil hearts. “Rose can get a couple of things together for you. Englishers, too, or just Amish?”

  “Both. The elders thought we might raise more money if we included all our neighbors.” She chuckled. “And them Englishers, they do love chicken and dumplings.”

  He leaned on one crutch and stroked his smooth skin. He had shaved that morning and standing so close to him, she could smell his shaving soap. She suddenly felt nostalgic, and a little sad. It had been a long time since she’d smelled a man’s shaving soap.

  “Then we should donate a gift certificate, too, ya, Rose?”

  Rose was surprised that he was consulting her. He spent a good deal of his time telling her that he was in charge around here. “I . . . ya, that would be nice. A good thing to do.”

  “Two, I think,” he said. “Twenty dollars each. And the chocolates. But you’ll have to make the gift certificates up,” he told Rose, turning to head back into the kitchen. “We don’t have any of those fancy printed ones. There’s paper in my office.”

  “That’s so generous of you, Jacob,” Mary called after him. “Thank you. The Fishers thank you. You should come to the fundraiser. Rose and I are making biscuits. I know you like her biscuits.”

  His back was to them. “Not much for social dinners,” he said, his voice suddenly sounding gruff.

  The three women were silent until he disappeared into the back and then Mary broke into a wide grin. “Very generous.”

  “Chocolates and gift certificates.” Hannah carried her little brown paper sack of licorice whips to the counter. “Generous, indeed. Might even say goot-maynich.” She met Rose’s gaze, a twinkle in her eyes.

  “Kind, ya, a kind man always makes the best husband, you know,” Mary injected.

  Rose cut her eyes in the direction of the kitchen, then back at her cousins, a silent warning to hold their tongues.

  The sisters just laughed. Hannah paid for her licorice and Rose promised to bring the boxes of candy and the gift certificates with her the following night. The women then said their goodbyes and headed out into the lightly falling snow. Rose was just settling down on her stool to begin packing more truffles, hopefully truffles they could hold back to have delivered with an order going out the following morning. She had the number of boxes the customer had ordered, but then Jacob had said the man would take an extra two dozen boxes, if they could manage. Jacob had seemed doubtful, but then he’d been surprised by how many truffles she’d been able to make in only a couple of hours.

  She was just arranging the mini muffin papers in boxes when she heard the doors from the kitchen swing open again. Jacob entered the shop and then he just stood there behind her. She suddenly felt self-conscious. She wondered if he was upset, thinking she had somehow put him on the spot about the donations. When she finally turned to him, though, the look on his face wasn’t one of anger. He was just standing there, watching at her.

  Rose met his gaze and he didn’t look away as he often did.

  “You’re going?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “To the fundraiser tomorrow night?”

  She nodded. “Ya, like they said. We’re making biscuits. A lot of biscuits,” she added, feeling silly when the words came out of her mouth. Something had changed between her and Jacob over the last day or two and she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. It wasn’t anything he had said, just a . . . feeling that was awkward and exciting at the same time. Like a spark between them.

  “Riding with Mary and her family, I suppose?”

  She looked down at the candy box in front of her. “Ya. I’m sorry. I should have told you. I can work late tonight, but not tomorrow night.” They both had put in a couple of extra hours the previous day and intended to stay again that evening after they locked the doors. After hours that night, they’d be making their first batches of fudge to ship and Rose thought she was more excited to get started than he was.

  “Would you . . . could I . . .” He stopped and started again. “If I go, would you . . . like to ride home? With me?”

  She almost blurted, “But I have a ride home.” Then she realized what he was asking. He wasn’t just offering a ride home. He was asking to take her home from an event, as in asking her home from a taffy pull or a singing of their earlier days. It was an Amish date of sorts that he was asking her on.

  Rose looked up at him from where she sat. She thought of the kindness of his gift for the Fishers. Of the laughter they’d shared in the kitchen that morning when he’d spilled sugar trying to help her measure out twenty cups. She thought of the occasional smile she got out of him and realized she would like to ride home with him. Alone in his buggy.

  Rose glanced down at the candy box in front of her again and then back at him. Suddenly she saw possibilities where she had not seen them a moment before. Her earlier suspicions had been accurate; he liked her. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be asking to take her home. From what she heard from the women of the Amish community, Jacob Beechy didn’t take girls home from church suppers.

  She smiled, almost shyly at him. “I’d like that, Jacob.”

  He didn’t answer. He just nodded. But then when he was in the kitchen again, she heard him whistling to himself.

  * * *

  “You look pretty tonight, Rose,” Alma Stoltzfus remarked, taking in her blue dress and white apron and kapp. She accepted the basket of fresh biscuits from Rose in the makeshift kitchen area they’d set up at the schoolhouse. “I hear a young man is taking you home.”

  Rose gazed out over the tables that had been set up for the fundraiser supper. There had to be fifty people seated on the long benches that had been unloaded from a church wagon, which was usually used to transport chairs, benches, and tables from home to home where church was held every other Sunday. She could hear cars and buggies still pulling onto the schoolhouse yard. They’d had so many more folks show up for supper than expected that Mary had run home to bake a couple more batches of baking powder biscuits in her two ovens. For now, they were asking people to just take one at a time, but promised more were on their way.

  Rose caught sight of Jacob sitting with a group of men and was surprised to realize that she was nervous about riding home with him after the supper. It was silly, really. She’d seen him every day since Clara hired her, all day, with the exception of the Sabbaths. She’d ridden to and from work with him in his buggy multiple times.

  But somehow this was different. The previous night Mary, always the matchmaker, had suggested the possibility of romance, even marriage, between Rose and Jacob. But Rose wasn’t ready to let her mind go there. Not yet. It wasn’t that she wasn’t ready to marry again. She was. She truly believed it was God’s wish that she be a wife and a mother again. But it was her heart that wasn’t ready to consider the possibility Jacob could become her husband. She had loved Karl. Could she really love again? Could these feelings of admiration and attraction become love? Because while she understood that men and women married for different reasons, she had to agree with the cute Englisher Valentine’s Day cards she’d seen at the general store. For her, marriage wasn’t just about commitment, it was about love.

  “I hear it’s Jacob Beechy.” Alma leaned closer to Rose, peering at her through tiny, oval, wire-frame glasses. “Is it true?”

  Rose felt as if she had been caught with her hand in her grandmother’s cookie jar, staring at Jacob so brazenly. She returned her attention to the older woman, but before she could respond sensibly, Alma went on. “Peculiar man that Jacob. Nice looking. Hardworking. But peculiar. Keeps to himself. Can have a bit of a sourness to him.” She gazed down at the basket of biscuits in her hands, then up at Rose. Alma barely stood five feet tall, but she seemed formidable. “But faithful. And his mother is a good woman. I like Clara. Of course, she’s odd, too, so we shouldn’t be surprised.”

  Rose offered a smile as she moved more biscuits from the metal sheet pans they’d transported them in to keep them warm, into another basket.

  A woman Alma’s age who Rose didn’t know walked up to them, a water pitcher in her hand.

  “Letty, this is Rose,” Alma introduced. “I was telling you about her. Came from Delaware to stay with Mary and Junior Troyer.” She leaned closer. “She’s walking out with Jacob Beechy.”

  Rose held up her finger. “I’m not—”

  “He asked to take her home,” Alma interrupted, paying Rose no mind. “Even with him on crutches. He must be mighty sweet on her. She’s working for him, you know. At the sweetie shop. You heard Clara went to Wisconsin, ya?”