A Churn for the Worse (13 page)

For what had to be the hundredth time since the shop opened, Claire peeked at the clock on the back wall and noted the time in relation to Annie's expected arrival. Sure, the extra pair of hands on a relatively busy Monday would be nice, but more than that, she just wanted to know what, if anything, Jakob and his officers had discovered at the bishop's farm.

She'd stayed awake until the wee hours of the morning hoping Jakob would text or call when his work was done, but he hadn't, his concern for her need to sleep a likely reason. And that morning, on her way in to work, a peek at the parking lot behind the Heavenly Police Department yielded no sign of the detective's car. Whether that was because he was home sleeping or out in the field, she could only guess.

“Good afternoon, Claire.”

Abandoning the display of painted spoons she wasn't really paying attention to anyway, Claire stepped off the footstool and took a moment to study her sixteen-year-old employee from head to toe. Dressed in a typical Amish dress and apron, Annie stood just inside the back entrance to the shop's main room, clutching a lunch pail in her hands. “Annie, you're early. I wasn't expecting you for another thirty minutes or so.”

“Henry was coming to town and offered to give me a ride in his buggy.” A hint of crimson crept across the girl's rounded cheeks just before she thrust the pail outward. “I brought you some chicken for lunch. An apple, too.”

Claire crossed the room to Annie but stopped short of actually taking the pail. “Annie, you don't have to bring me lunch. You really don't.”

“But I know how much you like the way Eva has taught me to bread the chicken. It is too much for just me and Dat to eat alone, anyway.”

Feeling her stomach start to respond to the proximity of a meal she'd so far skipped, she took the pail and smiled at her young friend. “Thank you, Annie.” Then, glancing over her shoulder at the front door, she carried the pail to the counter and removed the cloth cover. “We seem to be in a little bit of a lull at the moment, so maybe I will take a quick bite . . .”

“Why don't you sit down on the stool and eat. Or take it outside on the back stoop. I am here now. I will take care of any customers who come.”

Again, she looked at the clock. “Are you sure? Technically you still have some more time to walk around with Henry if he is still nearby.”

“Henry is not here to walk around,” Annie said as she gazed down at the clipboard and the list of daily tasks Claire had yet to check off. “He is here to talk to your detective. I am here to work.”

Claire let the chicken leg fall back into the pail and drifted back against the edge of the counter. “Henry is talking to Jakob right now?” At Annie's nod, she added, “Why? Do you know?”

“To see if the things that happened in our barn and the Millers' barn last night is what happened in Henry's barn.”

“So Jakob thinks Katie's stall door being unlatched is connected to whatever went on at the Millers' house yesterday?”

Annie's dark eyes swung toward the front door and then back to rest on Claire. “I was to be in bed when the detective and the other policemen stopped by last night. But it was not hard to hear the things they said. Dat looked to see if his money was missing. But it was not.”

“Was anything disturbed inside your house when you got home from your hymn sing yesterday?”

“I did not go into the house until after I came to see you at the inn, but when I got home Dat was there and everything was as it should be.”

“Is he sure?” Claire asked.

Annie laughed. “That is the same question your detective asked. And just as Dat told him, yah, we are sure.”

Claire reached, again, for the chicken and this time took a bite, her mind dissecting everything she knew so far. “But Jakob thinks someone was in your barn?”

“Yah. There was half a boot print in the earth that did not come from Dat or me.”

“I wonder why this person didn't go into your home as they did Henry's, Rebecca's, and the Millers'.” She took another bite of chicken and then slid the apple over to Annie. “I feel bad eating in front of you. Why don't you have the apple?”

“I already ate.” Annie slid onto the stool next to Claire and lowered her voice despite the absence of any customers. “It is no surprise that this person did not go into my house. He could not get in.”

She looked at Annie over her chicken leg and hoped any surprise depicted on her face didn't come off as judgmental. “You lock your doors?”

“No. But the doors stick. You must push in just the right place to make them open. The person in our barn did not know the right place.”

“They didn't break any windows?”

Annie shook her head and then reached into the pail long enough to retrieve a pair of cookies Claire hadn't noticed underneath the napkin. “I brought cookies. They are from a recipe my mamm used to make. They are Dat's favorite.”

“You are too good to me, Annie,” she said honestly.

“
God
is good. It is He who has brought us to be friends. It is His will.”

Claire reached her free hand across the space between them and patted Annie's knee. “I'm glad that it is,” she said simply. And she was. Annie had been a godsend since the moment she started working at Heavenly Treasures, her presence and work ethic enabling Claire to reclaim a little bit of the personal life she'd lost when Esther left to marry Eli. The young girl's enthusiasm for the job and obvious admiration of Claire had simply been the icing on the cake.
Now, several months later, Claire considered Annie a friend despite the doubled age difference between them.

“So what time did Jakob leave your house? Do you know?” she asked as she finished the chicken and moved on to the apple and the cookies.

“It was ten when he left the barn. The others stayed, but he and Benjamin left.”

“The others?”

“Policemen. They spent more time in the barn. Why, I do not know.”

“They were probably lifting fingerprints. To see if the person who is doing this is the same as the person who was at the Millers' yesterday. If the person has a criminal record, it will show up in a special police database.”

“If they do not?”

“Jakob will keep looking for the person behind everything that has happened this past week—the robberies, the trespassing, and most importantly, the death of Henry's dat.”

Annie nibbled on her lower lip and then looked up at Claire, her voice barely more than a raspy whisper. “It is scary to think that someone may have been in our barn. What if Dat had been there? What if this person killed . . .
Dat
?”

“He didn't. That's all that matters right now, Annie.” She wiped her hands on her napkin and then gathered Annie's hands inside her own. “Jakob will find the person responsible for all of this. I have absolutely no doubt about that. Jakob is very good at what he does.”

Annie cleared her throat of any lingering fear and narrowed her dark eyes on Claire as if she was searching for something. “You care for him, yah? As someone much more than a friend?”

“I do.” It was such a simplistic answer, but that didn't make it any less accurate. “Jakob is a good man. A kind, caring, generous man who wants nothing more than to make sure that everyone in this town is safe from harm. It's all he's ever wanted. Sadly, that calling has cost him dearly.”

“He is happy with you. It is in his smile every time he sees you.”

She considered likening Jakob's smile at seeing her to Annie's smile at the mere mention of Henry Stutzman, but thought better of it. At sixteen, such observations were almost invariably met with defensive words. Instead, she brought Henry back into the conversation via the topic at hand. “Do you think Henry has anything new to offer Jakob about what happened the night he found his father in the barn?”

Annie's head was already shaking before Claire had finished her sentence. “Henry was not in the barn when his dat died. He will not be able to help with that, but still he will try. Henry is like that. He likes to help.”

The bells tasked with announcing the arrival of a customer jingled, prompting Annie to instinctively gather Claire's trash and stuff it into the wastebasket while Claire slipped off her stool and headed toward the door. “Good afternoon, welcome to Heavenly Treas— Oh, Hank! Hello.”

The Midwestern college teacher's reply came via a broad smile, a quick wave, and a brief scan of his surroundings. “Hi, Claire. I've been spending so much time out at Amish home-based businesses, that I've neglected the shops here on Lighted Way. I figured it was time to change that.”

“Well, we're glad you did, aren't we, Annie?” She glanced over her shoulder at Annie and motioned the girl
over. “Annie, this is Hank Turner. He's staying at the inn while he researches small businesses for the college-level classes he teaches back in Wisconsin. And, Hank, this is Annie Hershberger, my trusty employee and friend.”

At the word
friend
, Annie's cheeks, powered by her smile, rose nearly to her eyes while Hank stepped forward and extended his hand to the Amish teenager. “How long have you been working here with Claire, Annie?”

Annie's eyes drifted upward in thought, then back to Claire for confirmation. “Five months? Is that right?”

“It'll be five months next week.” Claire slid her arm around Annie's shoulders and pulled the girl in for a quick side hug. “And she's been an absolute godsend, I'll tell you that much.”

“Is it difficult to work for someone who is not Amish?” Hank asked Annie. “To adjust to their customs?”

“It is nice to work with Claire. I learn much from her.” Annie crossed to the opposite side of the store and pointed at the wooden chests, footstools, and high chairs displayed there. “Claire gives many in our community a place to sell their handmade goods.”

Hank followed the girl for a closer look at the items, even reaching out to run his hand across a chest and a high chair. “Why don't they just open their own shops and sell them on their own like Samuel Yoder does with his furniture store or Ruth Miller does next door with her bake shop? Surely someone who can make handcrafted furniture like this could survive on their own, couldn't they? Or would they not want to compete with one of their own?”

“The Amish who make the items you see here are
farmers first. Their jobs are in the fields or with the animals,” Annie explained. “Claire's shop is a way to make money on things they build when they are not farming.”

Claire ventured over to Martha's painted milk cans and the shelf containing Esther's Amish dolls and lifted one of the dolls into the air for Hank to see. “And items like these are ways for many Amish women to make money for their families as well.”

“How do you work the whole social security tax aspect as an English employer with employees who aren't required to pay into the system?” Hank asked as he came closer to look at the variety of items displayed to the left and right of Claire.

“If they work for an English employer, they have to pay it.” Claire took a moment to neaten a stack of handmade baby bibs and a pile of booties. “But even if they do, they still don't accept anything in return when they retire.”

Nodding, Hank continued to take stock of her inventory, periodically stopping to touch something or hold it up for a closer look. When he reached a display of quilts, he pulled a pair of glasses from the front pocket of his trousers and slipped them into place across the bridge of his nose to allow a more thorough inspection of their detailed work. “The Amish really do quality work, don't they?”

“There's no question about that. Just ask Annie here.”

Hank looked from Annie to the quilt and back again, his eyes widening. “
You
made this?”

“Yah.”

“You do beautiful work, Annie. You must make a lot of money with a quilt like this.”

Annie shrugged. “It goes to Dat to use as he sees fit.”

“Do you ever think of opening your own shop one day?” Hank asked.

“No. One day I will have a husband and children. If I am to make money, it will be on quilts Claire sells here, or jams and jellies I sell from a stand.”

“Amish women do not work outside the home once they are married.” Claire took a moment to restack the selection of hand-sewn doilies, her thoughts flitting between the conversation with Hank and the tasks she still hoped to get done. “Their primary focus is on the family.”

“So they're home all day, every day?” Hank asked. “Well, unless they have to run an errand or it's a church day?”

“Yah.”

“Interesting.” Hank rested his arms across his chest and leaned against a small stretch of wall between the shelf of dolls and the shelf of place mats and other table essentials. “So what happens to the bake shop next door when Ruth marries? Will it close down since she can't run it?”