A Plain Man (5 page)

“
Nein
, their livestock stalls were on the lowest level. It was the loft that fell. He lost his hay storage, along with some equipment, but his cows and horses came through the ordeal fine. They're stabled in a neighbor's barn for now.”

“Josie Yoder's family?” asked Caleb.

“I believe one of his daughters is named Josie.”

“When will this be scheduled?” He tapped the blueprints with his finger.

“Time will tell. Let's concentrate on the Millersburg project first.” Eli experienced an odd spike of irritation with Caleb's interest in a community barn-building over regular, paid employment. Hopefully, his son hadn't lost every ounce of ambition and initiative he'd once possessed.

Caleb stood, slowly stretching out his back muscles. “I'll be ready first thing Monday morning. I brought home my tools. They were the only things worth moving from my last apartment on Davenport Drive.” He headed toward the office door as though their meeting had concluded.

“Hold up,” demanded Eli. “I've got a few questions before you start work.”

Caleb glanced back but held his position. “You want me to fill out an application, or maybe supply a list of Cleveland references?” He laughed as though amused.

Eli pointed at the metal chair. “No, but I am entitled to know what kind of construction you did for those
Englischers.
It would be useful when I start assigning tasks.” He kept his voice level while inside his irritation continued to build.

Caleb slouched back to the chair. “My friend Pete helped me get into the carpenters' union.”

“The same Pete who worked on that big tourist hotel and restaurant in Wilmot?” Eli interrupted—a trait he abhorred in other people.

“Yes, Pete Taylor—one and the same. Pete was already in the union. When I moved north, he helped me obtain my union card. I was an apprentice for four years. I would have made journeyman but the housing bubble burst and work dried up.”

“So you built big fancy homes for
Englischers
?” Eli pictured those mansions he saw in magazines at the dentist's office.

“No, we did commercial work—office buildings, restaurants, and public government housing for the low-income elderly. When the mortgage crisis hit, construction of every type ground to a halt.” Caleb lifted his hand. “Don't ask me to explain. I'm only repeating what the stewards rammed down my throat for years.”

“Go on.” Eli fought the impulse to ask,
So why didn't you come home?

“That's pretty much the whole story. I had a good-paying job for two years. After that I mainly sat around the union hall. Occasionally I got day work to keep the lights and heat turned on.”

“Did you familiarize yourself with the Cuyahoga County building codes?”

“No.” Caleb's eyes could have bored holes through Eli's forehead.

“Did you learn to read blueprints and schematics?”

“No. Pete told me to sign up for classes, but they were offered at night at the downtown community college campus. A man gets tired after putting in a full day of work.”

“What about the three slow years, when you sat around the hall?”

Caleb flushed. “Those classes ain't free. They cost money and a man needs a reliable set of wheels to get there.”

Eli saw no reason to back down. “Sarah said she used public transportation almost to your doorstep when she visited. She only walked two blocks.”

His son's face darkened as he gripped the edge of the desk. “Is this an interrogation about my past or an assessment of my skills? I thought my years in Cleveland were to be forgotten. I know how to use every tool to do any carpentry project out there. I can do the job,
Daed
.” Caleb lifted his chin with defiance.

Strangely, Eli took no solace from his
Deutsch
term for father. “I know you can, and eventually I will teach you how to read blueprints. For now it won't be necessary, but I can't make you a foreman.” He began stacking his papers. “Let's go into the house and check how supper is coming. I need a cup of coffee to tide me over.” Briefly, he considered offering his hand, but his son had already reached the door before the idea jelled. Eli swallowed hard.
Take it one day at a time. After all, you promised your wife.

Sarah set her wicker basket on the kitchen counter and headed to the fridge for a soft drink. She didn't notice her mother half-buried in the pantry.

“What's in the hamper?” The voice sounded echo-y and far away until Elizabeth rose to her feet. Her arms were filled with empty Mason jars which she placed in a packing crate.

“Cleaning cupboards?” Sarah took a large gulp of Pepsi.

“
Jah
, good day for it. Let's see what you brought me.” Her mother flipped the lid on the basket.

“Mrs. Pratt and I baked all day after the guests left. This morning I took several jars of canned pumpkin, zucchini, and blueberries from the cellar. Lee Ann bought every overripe banana at the IGA along with chopped walnuts on sale. We made a dozen loaves of pumpkin bread, zucchini bread, and banana-walnut and blueberry muffins, far more than Country Pleasures needs. So she insisted I bring some home.”

Elizabeth leaned over the hamper and inhaled deeply. “Smells
wundabaar,
but why didn't you stick them in the inn's freezer? All of these freeze nicely.”

“Because there's not an inch of space from the last time we baked.”

“They surely won't go to waste here, not with your
bruder
home. Have you ever seen so thin a man eat so much? A person could think he never ate his entire time in Cleveland.”

That's not far from the truth
, she thought. Sarah had tried to forget Caleb's depressing apartment with strange odors emanating from the hallway and his kitchen, the threadbare carpet, and his stained and broken furniture. She had found only a couple Cokes, a six-pack of beer, a half-eaten pizza, and bottles of suspicious-looking catsup and mustard in his refrigerator. “He won't stay skinny with you in charge of his meals.” Sarah grinned at her mother, grateful her parents never witnessed their son's former existence. “Cal met me at the Pratts' and walked me home.”

“Whatever for? Was he worried you would lose your way?” Elizabeth unloaded the basket into their propane freezer.

“He plans to attend an event in Shreve on Saturday. James Weaver wishes to meet Amish women not from our district, and Cal agreed to go with him.”

“Great news.” Elizabeth clapped her hands as though at a horse show or theater performance. “But why did he meet you at Country Pleasures?”

“He wants Adam and me to join them, believing there's safety in numbers. Please don't tell Rebekah. If she stalks James like a serial killer, he'll be unable to make new friends.”

“Sarah Beachy,”
Mamm
scolded. “A serial killer? Have you been watching TV at Mrs. Pratt's? I suggest you limit yourself to the Hallmark Channel so you don't put such nasty ideas into your head.” Elizabeth made that clucking sound with her tongue—a gesture every mother masters eventually. “Rebekah likes James in a perfectly normal way.”

“Just the same, let's give James a chance to see some new faces.”

Begrudgingly, her mother nodded.

“Would you mind if I walked to Josie's? I'd like to take the Yoders a loaf or two of these sweet breads.”

“Of course not. Why would I mind?” Her mother placed the last two tightly wrapped loaves by the door.

“
Daed
gets mad when he comes inside and finds you fixing supper alone. He thinks I work too hard for Mrs. Pratt and not hard enough at home.”

She laughed from the belly. “Eli is so old-fashioned. Don't be surprised if he insists you quit your job the moment you and Adam announce your engagement. Run along. I'll tell your father I ordered you to go, because that's what I'm doing. Tell Margaret Yoder I'll see her at quilting.” She transferred the breads into a smaller basket. “Are you up to something, sweet girl?” Elizabeth Beachy couldn't be fooled for long; she could sniff out a sly plan while standing in a garden of summer roses.

“Maybe. I'll let you know if I'm remotely successful.” Shrugging into her cloak, Sarah grabbed the basket and headed for the door, kissing her mother's cheek on the way out. “In the meantime, say a prayer that the love-bug bites not one, but two people in our neighborhood.”

“The love-bug? First serial killers, now romantic insects?”

Sarah closed the door behind her and headed around the barn with energy that belied her long workday. The Yoders lived on a different township road, but a well-trodden path connected the two farms. The trail wound between fenced pastures, through the orchard, around the woodlot that stretched into the hills, and past an abandoned gristmill. Seldom did a trip to Josie's not include a five-minute break at the piece of history from a bygone age of agriculture. Sarah would stand
on the ivy-covered stone wall and peer down into the cascading water far below. The mill itself was beyond repair, yet the grapevines and rampant wildflowers softened its decrepit appearance. A rusty waterwheel had locked into position for all eternity, but Sarah loved it here—so peaceful, so quiet. She could still her mind and listen to God prodding her in one direction or another. Right now, He told her to get a move on or there wouldn't be time for her errand.

Josie was outdoors when Sarah rounded the corner and approached the house. Josie Yoder—petite, small-boned, with sparkling green eyes and hair so dark it looked black. Since Sarah was tall, blonde, freckled, and brown-eyed, the two were polar opposites physically. But in other ways, they were sisters under the skin. They often guessed what the other was thinking with amazing accuracy.

“Hi, Josie,” Sarah called while still yards away.

Her friend turned at the clothesline, a billowy white sheet in hand. “What are you doing here? Didn't you work at the B&B today?”

“I'm pleased to see you too.” Sarah wrinkled her nose. “Of course I did, but it's after three o'clock.”

“Time flies.” Josie concentrated on folding the bed linen before it dragged on the grass. “
Mamm
made me wash things that were perfectly clean.” She snuffled to emulate her favorite barnyard animal. “When she gets the spring-cleaning bug, look out. Soon she'll have me dusting in between the windows and the screens.” Josie dropped the folded sheet atop her laundry basket. “What's up? Did you hear gossip that won't wait until Sunday?”

Breathing hard, Sarah reached the triple clothesline. “I don't gossip, but my mother and I were just discussing bug bites an hour ago. What are you doing the day after tomorrow?” She asked without preamble.

Josie blinked her cat eyes. “Saturday? I haven't thought that far ahead. I'll probably help cook food for the Sabbath. You have something better in mind?”

“Let's go to the pancake breakfast in Shreve. They purchased Weaver maple syrup, along with fried Trail bologna, sausage patties, French toast, and Belgian waffles. Plus they will have craft displays, homemade candy, and quilts up for raffle.”

Josie giggled. “Do you work for the Chamber of Commerce in addition to Mrs. Pratt?” She pulled a row of dish and hand towels from the line.

“No, one job is plenty,
danki.
But I think we'll have fun.”

Josie's pretty face turned suspicious. “Who's this ‘we'? What are you up to, Sarah Beachy?”

“Let's see...there will be me, Adam, my
bruder
Caleb, and James Weaver—producer of Ohio's best syrup.” She grinned as though selling toothpaste on television.

Josie attacked a row of dresses, pulling until pins flew in every direction. “Oh no you don't. I like James well enough, but as a friend. Don't try fixing me up with him. If I give the tiniest amount of encouragement, his mother will plant half an acre of celery and finish our wedding quilt by month's end.”

Sarah walked around men's trousers lofting in the March breeze. “No, not James,” she said softly.

“Who then?” Josie yanked down socks and tossed them toward the basket.

“My brother. You once told me that you liked Cal. You thought he was kind, sweet, and very handsome.”

Josie faced Sarah eye-to-eye, or to the best of her ability considering her stature. “I believe I was fifteen at the time. I'm twenty-one now, Sarah. People change. Your
bruder
sure did.” She held Sarah's gaze without blinking.

“Maybe he's the same on the inside.” Sarah tightened her cape against the wind.

“Maybe so, but my father would never let your brother court me. Everybody in the district has heard how he sneaked around to get a driver's license and then teamed up with a group of
Englisch
thugs. One of them hit a dog on Route 83 and didn't even stop to see if the dog could be helped.” She shook her head.