The Amish Sweet Shop, page 17
“They all leave the shop like that, Sadie.”
She tried to hide her disappointment by pretending to look at the case, but Clara was as observant as she was kind. “Sadie? Is everything okay?”
“No, it’s fine. It’s just . . .” The rest of her words faded off as the jingled arrival of a new customer pulled the Amish woman’s attention off Sadie and fixed it, instead, on the door.
While Clara greeted the couple and offered them samples of Jacob’s fudge, Sadie stepped over to the window and its view of the quilt shop on the other side of Main Street. On any other day, the sight of the wide front porch and colorful quilts displayed in the large picture window made her happy. Today, though, it was as if everything were muted by the sound of Miss Jenny casting doubt on her theory—a theory that, while sad, was far more realistic than the one her boss wanted to believe.
A familiar buggy pulled through her view, directing it off Bluebird Quilts and leading it to a stop just beyond the mouth of the alley. Seconds later, her handsome friend dropped down from his seat, whispered something in Bell’s ear, and then, glancing toward Miss Jenny’s shop, pulled a basket from behind his seat and carried it up the alley.
Curious, Sadie stepped to the left, her gaze riveted on Amos as he headed toward his dat’s shop while looking back at Miss Jenny’s window every few steps. When she lost sight of him, she took another step to the left only to stop as Clara finished up with the customers and returned to Sadie’s side.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t help you with your question, Sadie, but perhaps there is something else I can do for you?” Clara asked. “Maybe a sample of Jacob’s fudge for yourself? Or some candy to take home to the little ones?”
“No thank you, Clara.” She met the woman’s worried eyes with what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “I really should be heading back to work. Miss Jenny will be wondering where I am if I don’t get back.”
“Don’t be such a stranger, Sadie. It’s lovely seeing you here.”
“Thank you, Clara.” With a quick squeeze of the woman’s hand, Sadie turned, yanked open the door, and made haste across the street to Miss Jenny’s shop.
As she approached the front porch, she could see Miss Jenny standing just inside the door with a pair of customers. Not wanting to interrupt, Sadie cut through the alley toward the back door, stopping mid-step as her gaze fell on the same basket she’d seen in Amos’s hands not more than five minutes earlier.
Confused, she stepped closer, her steps and her eyes guided forward by a familiar sight hanging from the basket’s handle.
4:25 p.m.
She moved through the rest of the afternoon in a daze, her thoughts and her feet returning again and again to the basket she’d placed on the shelf behind the counter. Even before she’d pulled back the cloth cover she’d known what was inside. The medley of apple and cinnamon aromas had been evident even before she’d gotten close enough to read the tag.
Stilling her hand atop the quilt she’d just finished folding, Sadie traveled her thoughts back to the moment she’d first turned over the tag and saw her name written exactly as it had been on all the other gifts.
Including the mirror.
Only now, instead of wondering whether Miss Jenny was trying to be kind or the Englisher in the red car was intentionally being cruel, she knew who was behind it all.
Amos had left the book of quotes.
Amos had left the whittled and hand-painted songbird.
Amos had left the heart-shaped chocolate from Beechy’s.
Amos had left the apple cinnamon pie solely responsible for her stomach’s persistent growling.
And Amos had left the mirror.
Amos. As in Amos Yoder . . . The handsome Amish man with the dark hair, warm brown eyes, kind voice, and dimple-accompanied smile that had made her heart flutter more than a few times the past week or so.
“I’m sorry Clara didn’t have any information for you, dear . . .”
Shrugging away Miss Jenny’s disappointment, Sadie deposited the newly folded quilt on its proper shelf and reached for another. “It’s okay. It’s not really anything I should be worrying about.”
“That’s quite a switch.”
She stopped folding. “What do you mean, Miss Jenny?”
“Is this still about you thinking that awful young man in the red car is behind all of these gifts? Because it still doesn’t make sense to me. Not with all the other gifts beyond the—”
“It wasn’t him.” Propelled forward by Miss Jenny’s answering gasp, Sadie set the quilt on a different shelf and wandered over to the window overlooking the alley. A quick visual sweep of the area netted no sighting of Amos or his buggy.
Miss Jenny’s footsteps grew louder as she, too, made her way to the window and Sadie. “I thought you said Clara couldn’t help you. That she’s sold too many heart-shaped chocolates the past few days to know who all bought them . . . Though, I still think if you’d described the Englisher to her the way you did to me, she might have been able to at least say if he’d been into her shop or not.”
“There is no need.” She turned her attention to the part of Main Street she could see from her vantage point and wondered when Amos would return. If he followed the same pattern she’d begun to piece together for him over the past few days, his buggy would reappear about the same time she was starting the various closing tasks around the shop. And then, sometime after she set out for home, he’d show up to chase off the Englisher. Or, in the case of the day the mirror came, he’d step outside the ice cream shop’s door and find her crying on the back step.
But not today. Today, she would be waiting for him.
“Of course, there was a need, dear. If you know the chocolate came from him, I could make sure that all subsequent gifts go straight into the trash without you even having to see them. And if it wasn’t from him, then—”
“It wasn’t from him,” she whispered.
This time, when Miss Jenny gasped, the sound was immediately followed by the feel of the woman’s hands on Sadie’s shoulders, turning her. “I thought you said Clara was unable to help.”
“Because she wasn’t.”
“Then how do you know who it wasn’t?”
She took one last look over her shoulder at the empty alleyway and then beckoned for Miss Jenny to follow. When she reached the counter, she made her way around it to the basket she’d yet to share. “Because I know who it was now,” she said, setting the basket on the countertop between them. “He left this for me while I was at Beechy’s.”
“What . . .” Miss Jenny’s words trailed away in favor of a hearty laugh as she peeled back the cloth cover and looked into the basket. “So this is why I’ve been smelling apple and cinnamon since you got back! I thought I was imagining it. Although, I’m not sure if you noticed or not, but just after you got back, a customer in a blue sweater came in. I noticed the smell about that time and thought maybe it was a new kind of perfume. I even commented on her necklace just so I could get close enough for a whiff. But it wasn’t her or my always hungry imagination, was it?”
“I’m sorry, Miss Jenny. I should have mentioned it, but I was having trouble thinking and I just wanted to stick it under the counter so I could get back to work and think later. Only”—she stopped, her focus dropping to the tag bearing her name in bold, penciled lettering—“I haven’t been able to think about much of anything besides this pie . . . and the book . . . and the bird . . . and the chocolate . . . and . . . the mirror.”
“So, who is it?” Miss Jenny asked, mid-squeal. “Who is your secret admirer?”
“He’s not a secret admirer. Not a real one, anyway.” Sadie stepped back against the wall and cocked her head up toward the ceiling. “He was simply doing what you did, Miss Jenny.”
“What I did?” Miss Jenny echoed.
“Ya. He was pretending. To be nice.”
“He was pretending to be nice? You mean like the Englisher?”
She considered Miss Jenny’s words against everything he’d shown her that week and, finally, shook her head. “No. He wasn’t pretending to be nice. He was pretending to be my secret admirer because he’s nice.”
“How do you know this?” Miss Jenny asked.
“Because he is handsome and smart. He could court any girl in any district if he wanted.”
Miss Jenny joined her behind the counter and waited until Sadie relinquished her visual hold on the tiled ceiling above her head. “Perhaps he wants to court you, Sadie.”
“No, Miss Jenny. He doesn’t.” She inhaled the courage she needed to give Miss Jenny a proper, carefree smile but it froze midway across her mouth at the sound of a buggy in the alley.
Stepping around Miss Jenny, Sadie grabbed hold of the basket and headed toward the back door. “There is something I need to take care of, but I shouldn’t be long.”
Before Miss Jenny could say or ask anything, she stepped outside, the sudden sadness she felt as she looked at the back door of Yoder’s Ice Cream rendering her momentarily immobile. Yes, she knew she needed to speak to Amos . . . And yes, she knew she needed to ask him to stop . . . But when he did, so, too, would the brief moments she’d had of feeling special.
It wasn’t the gifts, per se, that had done that. In fact, just the lingering question mark over the various treats had made that difficult. It was the time she’d spent with Amos that had done that.
Sharing her favorite quote from the book . . .
Having him chase off the Englisher . . .
Confiding in him about the fire . . .
Letting him wipe her tears . . .
Making wishes together on sparkles . . .
“Got something special in that basket?”
Startled from her thoughts, she shifted her focus to the opposite side of the alley and the living embodiment of her oft-made wish. Because, right or wrong, Amos Yoder had made her feel special. And even if it had been for all the wrong reasons, it had still felt nice for the brief moment it lasted.
“Sadie?”
“The new wish you told me to make came true,” she said, stepping down off the step and brandishing the basket in the air.
“Oh?”
“Ya. I was given an apple pie today. It is not Mam’s, but it smells delicious.”
“Smells delicious? Does that mean you haven’t tried it yet?”
She forced herself to meet his eye and hold it while simultaneously praying for the courage she needed to say what needed to be said. When she was sure she was ready, she returned his smile. “I will. Tonight. Along with the chocolate you left me.”
Shifting his weight, he palmed his mouth only to let his hand fall back to his side. “I almost told you yesterday, when you were so upset about the mirror, but I wanted to give you the chocolate as my last surprise. But then, after your wish, I knew I had to add one more thing. Especially since I’d guessed it out loud.”
“But that’s just it, Amos. You didn’t have to do any of it. Not the book, not the bird, not the . . .” She heard the tears hovering around her words and made herself stop.
Amos jumped down off the stoop and slowly crossed the alley, his every step seemingly labored. “You have to know I didn’t mean for that mirror to bring you pain, Sadie. I mean, I-I knew it was wrong, that it is not a proper Amish gift, but I was hoping—”
She had to stop him, had to let him off the hook. But to do so meant the end of her real wish . . .
“I was hoping that maybe you’d look at it and see what I—”
Squaring her shoulders, she stopped him with her hand. “Please, Amos. I know why you did what you did and it was very sweet. But I need you to stop.”
Her words seemed to push him backward. “Stop? Stop what?”
“Giving me things.” She lifted the basket into the air again, then swept it toward Miss Jenny’s stoop. “Trying to be nice. It’s sweet, it really is, but I don’t want you feeling sorry for me anymore than I want Miss Jenny feeling sorry for me.”
“Feeling sorry for you?”
“For this.” She gestured her free hand toward her cheek and then returned it to the basket handle in the hopes its incessant trembling would stop. “Miss Jenny only sees it when I am here in the shop, working. And you . . . you only see it if you happen to come out to the alley when I am having lunch or taking out the trash. But I see my reflection in my bedroom window every morning. I see it in the mirror in the kitchen before I leave to come here. I see it in Mam’s eyes when she hears of yet another friend who is to be married. I am used to it, Amos. It is normal for me now. I don’t need pity.”
He stared back at her, his mouth gaping and closing and gaping again.
“But I would like a friend,” she added. “A friend who will laugh with me like you do, Amos.”
“A friend? I don’t want to be your friend.”
It was as if his words were a hand, smacking her across the face. “But—”
He closed the gap between them with three determined strides. When he was not more than a foot away, he reached out, took the basket from her hands, and set it at her feet. Then, gathering her hands in his, he held them tight. “I didn’t give you that book because I felt sorry for you, Sadie. I gave it to you because I know you like to read and I thought you would like it. And I gave you that bird because that quote you read from your book—the reason you liked it—made me want to make you a reminder of those words. The chocolate was because I remember the way your eyes got all shiny when you spoke of the treat your friend Esther would not eat. And the pie? That was because I didn’t want your wish to be ruined because I guessed what it was out loud.”
Too stunned to speak, she remained quiet, her head trying hard to keep up with her ears.
“And the mirror? I gave that to you because I wanted to help you see what I see every time I look at you.”
“What you see?” she rasped.
“Ya.”
“There is nothing to see but ugly scars . . .”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Sadie. There is everything to see.” His voice deepened as he stepped still closer. “You are hardworking . . . You are kind . . . You are funny . . . You are brave . . . And you are—”
“Amos, please stop.”
Releasing her from his grasp, he cradled her cheeks inside his strong, calloused hands. “I can’t stop. Maybe I should have just said this last night, at the pond, instead of wanting to get in two more surprises. But I’m saying it now . . . You, Sadie Fisher, are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen—inside and out.”
“But my face. It’s—”
“Your face—your whole face—is what I see in my thoughts when I’m driving to Dat’s shop each day. And when I finally get here, it is what I hope to see when I look at Miss Jenny’s steps or into Miss Jenny’s . . .”
She followed his eyes as they left hers and traveled toward the very same window where she’d so often stood, never quite daring to imagine a moment like this. A moment so perfect she might actually think she was dreaming if it weren’t for the happy squeal and the not so hushed “I knew it” coming from the other side of the screen.
“Uh-oh,” she murmured, looking back at Amos.
“What’s wrong?”
“I think Miss Jenny just heard everything you said.”
His brown eyes flashed with joy. “I think my dat did, too.”
“Your dat?” Sadie peeked around Amos to the ice cream shop’s back door—and the outer edge of a black brimmed hat she hadn’t noticed until just that moment.
“Ya. He has heard me speak of little else since I met you.”
She stumbled back a step. “You have spoken about me?”
“Every day. All day.”
Amos’s laugh filled the air around them as he gathered her hands inside his own once more, his eyes so full of love she could hardly breathe. “Dat’s right, Sadie. You’re all I think about. All I want to think about. So please . . . If it’s alright with your dat, may I court you, Sadie Fisher?”
“Yes! Yes!”
She waited until Amos’s eyes returned to hers and added the smile she couldn’t hold back even if she tried. “What Miss Jenny said.”
Nothing Tastes So Sweet
MARY ELLIS
This book is dedicated
to Joycelyn Sullivan.
I will always be grateful
for your proofreading
of my novels.
Acknowledgments
It was an honor to be able to work with Emma Miller and Laura Bradford.
Special thanks to my editor, Alicia Condon, and my production editor, Paula Reedy, at Kensington Publishing. I also wish to thank my fabulous agent, Nicole Resciniti; my former proofreader, Joycelyn; and my darling husband, Ken, who has always been supportive of me.
Chapter 1
“Daniel,” Hannah called from the stove. “Your breakfast is ready.”
“What are we having—Eggs Benedict?” he teased. “Corned beef hash?”
She laughed. Daniel always requested the same menu each Monday morning and today was no different. “Two eggs, over hard, four strips of bacon, and three pieces of buttered toast. Better hurry before everything gets cold.” She filled his mug with coffee.
“Ahh, my favorite. How did you know?” He winked while adding jam to a slice of toast.
Hannah took her coffee over to the window seat. Normally she ate with her husband, but today her stomach didn’t feel right. In fact the thought of bacon grease and butter made her downright queasy.
“Any plans this week, other than work?” he asked between bites of egg.
“If Wednesday’s weather is nice, I may call for a ride to Mam’s. She’s hosting a quilting at her house. Then Dat can bring me home.”
“What does weather have to do with quilting?”
“I don’t want him out late if it’s snowing. That makes it too hard to see buggy reflectors.”
Daniel nodded and refilled his mug.
Hannah peered down on the street below. “Oh my, your ride is here already.”
