A Path Made Plain (21 page)

Chapter 23

23

T
had arrived fifteen minutes early for his interview at Palm Trees and found a convenient spot to park his motorcycle. An ocean breeze drifted down the main drag of Siesta Key Village, footsteps from the edge of the white sands of Siesta Key Beach. A guy could get used this, fast.

He’d missed the trips out on the cycle. Why hadn’t he made more time for this lately? He shook his head. He’d allowed the village atmosphere to suck him in with the power of a vacuum. For a time, he’d been content to lose himself in the fantasy he could be not-Plain among them. There were some who still spoke to him and associated with him. Those outnumbered the ones who didn’t.

He swung his leg over the bike and popped the kickstand, before unstrapping his knife case from the back of the cycle. His chef’s jacket was neatly folded in a bag. Before he went to the kitchen, he’d ask the way to the men’s room and prepare himself for the interview to follow.

Gotte’s will be done
. The thought came, unbidden. Did he want
Gotte’s wille
? He’d long ago tried to free himself from thoughts like that. However, this thought came because it was what he wanted, not what someone else was trying to force on him. Divine guidance would be most welcome.

Daed
had thought he should have studied a more traditional trade, yes. So had the others. They had begged and pleaded with him for hours to reconsider, to bend to their will, to at last join the church and participate in its baptism.

He couldn’t. It wasn’t truthful.

But back to
Gotte’s wille
again. If
Gotte
gave him a talent, oughtn’t he to use it? In Plain terms, what he did might not be traditional, but it in no way contributed to dividing people or drawing people away from the Order.

No, it was that he wasn’t like everyone else. It’s what
Daed
, and the others, had wanted him to be—like everyone else. He remembered his nearly eighteen-year-old self realizing the fact and it being the last thing to send him packing, literally.

A passing car honked at someone, jolting Thad back to the very-present priority of moving on with his life. As the days had passed, the heebie-jeebies had left him.

He held the knife case in one hand, his helmet in the other, and pulled open the door to Palm Trees.

The restaurant atmosphere, one he’d called home for years, surrounded him again. The host desk, the menus tucked into the holder, an expanse of bar to the left with an accompanying patio. He glimpsed a simple raised stage in the courtyard outside. The place was probably hopping at night.

“You must be Thaddeus Zook,” a young woman in a dark blue chef jacket said. “I’m Beth Waller, head pastry chef.”
Beth. Betsy.
Two female pastry chefs, two completely different women.

“Nice to meet you.” He shifted the helmet to his hip, the knife case to his left hand, and shook her offered hand.

“You bike, huh?” She glanced at his helmet appreciatively, her nut-brown hair scraped back into an efficient bun.

“Yes, I do.”

“What do you ride?”

“A Harley Sportster, 2008.”

“Sweet. I own a hog myself.” She grinned, assessing his arms. “Well, when you’re ready, head straight back to the kitchen and I’ll let the manager and executive chef know you’re here.”

Thad glimpsed a men’s room sign past her shoulder. “All right. I’ll be a moment.”

She smiled at him, a dimple appearing in her left cheek. “I can’t wait to see what you can do.”

Did she just hit on him?

Thad shook his head and headed for the men’s room. The attention didn’t make him exactly uncomfortable. Hey, she was a pretty lady. But now, the attention didn’t seem as welcome to him. Which was okay. He wasn’t looking to meet anyone. Not with Betsy claiming his thoughts and the aggravation of what to do about it.

He entered the men’s room and set his things inside an empty sink. He pulled his chef’s jacket from the small bag and shook it free of a few wrinkles. The few minutes in the bag as he traveled from Pinecraft hadn’t done much damage.

There. He settled the jacket over his black T-shirt and buttoned it up. The sturdy weave felt good, like he’d put on a part of himself he’d laid aside for a while.

Stop thinking so much.
If he wanted to get this job, he needed to be focused. Lack of focus meant mistakes, bad food, poor-tasting desserts, all of which led to unhappy diners.

Thad stared at himself in the mirror and tugged the hem of his jacket, then his cuffs.
Thaddeus Zook
was embroidered on the left upper chest, along with the insignia of a plate covered with a spoon.

“Here goes.” He left the restroom, then headed through the dining room and straight to the back and the kitchen. The fluorescent lights glowed in the gleaming room.

Thad set his helmet on the nearest edge of stainless prep table and approached the trio waiting for him.

Beth grinned. “And this is Thaddeus Zook. This is Brad, our manager, and Antoine, our executive chef.”

“Nice to meet all of you. What would you like me to show you?”

Brad spoke first. “We need a part-time pastry chef to help Beth, and Antoine needs a sous chef on occasion. So the right person for us needs to be versatile.”

“Okay.”

“Let us see your knife work,” Antoine said, with a hint of an accent. “Please, dice an onion, filet a fish, and shuck the bowl of oysters.”

He could do those things, but he should have practiced. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? Because all he’d be thinking about was the pastry part of the job. He had recipes in a journal, twists on traditional restaurant favorites as well as new concoctions all his own. Those were more valuable to him than his knife set, which he would never have the heart to part with.

Thad placed the knife set on the prep table and opened the case, before stepping to the nearest sink to wash his hands. He’d pulled out each knife in turn last night, sharpening each of them, before sliding them precisely into their individual lined pockets.

He dried his hands on a clean towel, and pulled his favorite knife from its sleeve and turned his attention to the onion in front of him. It was almost like his hands remembered how to maneuver the onion, and he made quick work of dicing it into tiny cubes, then scooping the bits into an empty bowl.

Next, for the fish, a run-of-the-mill trout. Thad slid the filet knife from its spot and something else slid out too. A small keychain, without a key. He paused as he stared at the keychain.

“Is something wrong? Because the onion looks terrific,” Beth said.

“No, not at all. Thank you.” He took his time filleting the fish. They’d probably judge this more strictly than the onion.

Someone had stuck a keychain in his knife case. A keychain with no key. It made no sense. It also meant someone had gone through his stuff, back in Columbus.

The last time he’d looked at those knives, other than last night, was when he left Columbus and packed up his things at Dish and Spoon.

* * *

Thad zipped along in the stop-and-go traffic all the way back to Pinecraft. His gut told him he’d done a decent job at the interview.

“I’ll give you a call,” Beth had said, sending him off with a grin.

Somehow he’d gotten through the interview with the old feeling coming back, as he answered every question and they drilled him about possible scenarios in the kitchen.

But what if it had been a mistake, and someone had stuck the keychain into his case, thinking it belonged to someone else. He was making a big deal out of likely nothing. Thad decelerated as he turned onto Bahia Vista.

His attention turned back to the job. What would people in the village think if he took a job at an
Englisch
restaurant? He wasn’t so much concerned with what they thought, but whether their opinion ought to matter to him.

He’d grown tired of doing next to nothing around here, and Henry hadn’t mentioned needing help with any tile work. Maybe after the first of the year. What else could he do, except what go back to what he knew? Part of him wanted to help Betsy in her bakery, but he knew the odds of her business succeeding.
Mammi
had told him about a television station coming to do a story about the bakery. Good news for Pinecraft Pies and Pastry.

Thad grinned as the Harley growled past the bakery. A WSAS van sat in the lone parking space beside the shop. Thad nearly decided to check in and see how the television filming was going. However, it could wait.

He continued along to the house and found it empty. He headed for the refuge of his room and set his helmet and knife case on the dresser, then opened his small backpack.

Thad took out the keychain again, turning it over with his fingers. The key fob was a dark gunmetal gray rectangle, smaller than a skinny pack of gum. It looked like one end—the end not attached to the chain—came off like a lid or a cap.

He pulled off the end, exposing a USB connector. Computer file storage, on a convenient keychain. He wasn’t totally computer illiterate, and his curiosity made him wonder even more about why the keychain had ended up in his knife set.

Someone had tucked it there, for safekeeping, maybe? Or maybe they’d confused his set with someone else’s at the restaurant. But he couldn’t see that happening. He never left his knives far from his reach.

He set the keychain on the dresser. He’d have to make time to go over to Rochelle Keim’s, yet again, and see if she minded him using her laptop, to see if there was anything on the USB drive.

Then again, maybe it would be better to find another computer to use besides Rochelle’s. The temptation to visit with Betsy would be strong, and he didn’t need it now.

He supposed he could ask Henry if he knew of anyone who would mind him using the computer. Either that, or Imogene. A former Amish woman who was now a shutterbug likely had a computer. He hadn’t seen her lately, either.

Thad figured he’d check with Ms. Keim if he could use her computer. If there was nothing on the USB drive, then nothing. He needn’t spend much time there, especially if Betsy were home.

He called Rochelle’s number and the call went straight to voice mail, so he left a message, asking if he might borrow some time on her computer for a few moments, when it was convenient for her.

Thad ended the call, and the fidgets began. He burned off some of the energy by washing the few dirty dishes in the kitchen sink, then by sweeping and mopping
Mammi’s
floor. Then he sharpened the few utility knives in the drawer.

Ben Esh came to mind. His old friend had extended an open invitation to stop by the RV park and visit before he and his musical group left Sarasota. Who knew when this chance would come again? More than anything at the moment, besides Rochelle Keim letting him know about using the computer, was having his questions answered about Ben’s life after leaving the
Ordnung
.

* * *

Rochelle looked at her calendar. Christmas, so close, less than a month away. And Daniel Troyer, leaving before Christmas. It was just as well she hadn’t let her defenses down with him, not completely. If he was leaving, then so be it. Silas Fry had made his own choice years ago.

She wondered how he’d been dealing with Belinda’s death. She didn’t dare consider asking anyone to find out, save her sister Jolene. But if she enlisted Jolene’s help, then everyone would know why Jolene was asking questions about Silas.

This quick affection for Daniel Troyer was borne out of nothing except sheer loneliness, and Rochelle knew it.

Lord, I don’t want to be with someone because of loneliness alone. I would rather suffer loneliness than be committed for a lifetime to the wrong person.

She tore her focus away from all things Daniel and Silas, then back to the calendar and her laptop. The aroma of supper in the oven made her mouth water.

The front door banged open.

“
Aenti
Chelle, I’m home. And . . . you have a visitor.” Emma entered the kitchen with Daniel following her. “Steven was dropping me off, just as Daniel arrived. I have some fish, too.” Emma held up a string of mullet.

“Hello.” Daniel stood in the entryway to the kitchen. He clutched his hat in one hand, and paper sack in the other. “I brought something too, but not fish.”

“Oh?” She didn’t get up from behind the laptop.

“Ice cream from Big Olaf’s. I asked if they could dish up a couple of quarts for me.” The man’s shoulders drooped. He glanced at Emma, who scurried onto the lanai with the fish.

“I see.” Her quiet home had turned into a three-ring circus, with
Aenti
Sarah napping in her room, Emma traipsing in sunburned after an afternoon of fishing with her friends, and now Daniel looking like a schoolboy in trouble. Now all she needed was Betsy and Winston to show up and the effect would be complete. She begrudged none of it, although her first instinct was to send Daniel home.

“Well,” she found her voice worked, “the least I can do is offer you supper, since you brought dessert.”

“Thank you.”

“You can put the ice cream in the freezer.” Rochelle gestured with her head in the direction of the refrigerator. “I made slow cooker chicken curry. Have you ever had it before? It’s a bit spicy, but it also has coconut milk and sour cream in it.”

“No, can’t say as I have.” He stepped over to the refrigerator and opened the freezer door. “I thought you might be done for the day. It’s nearly five-thirty.”

“I am. Just wrapping up a few accounts.”

A familiar step-click, step-click sounded in the hallway.
Aenti
Sarah and her walker. Beautiful timing. Rochelle smiled at the older woman. She almost opened her mouth to chide her about asking for help, but
Aenti
showed she was a stubborn bird. If Rochelle were in her nineties, she expected she would be, too.

“Supper ready yet?”
Aenti
Sarah sniffed the air, then studied Daniel. “You’re back.”

“He brought Big Olaf’s ice cream, and yes, supper is almost ready.” Rochelle rose from her chair. “I need to check the rice.”