Breath of Spring (25 page)

Pour the milk into a medium pan and stir in the sugar and cornstarch. Cook over low heat, stirring constantly until the mixture is blended smoothly and starting to thicken. Add the butter/margarine, still stirring, until the mixture resembles a soft pudding. Remove from heat and add the vanilla. Pour the filling into the pie shell and sprinkle the cinnamon over the top. Chill.

Kitchen Hint:
This is also tasty in a graham cracker crust. You can’t freeze this pie, so gee, you’ll just have to eat it all while it’s fresh!

Upside-Down Pizza

Plain folks are eating more Italian-style food these days, and one-pan meals like this one are popular with cooks who must feed large families on a limited budget.

Brown the meat with the salt, pepper, onion, and green pepper. Drain off excess grease and add the pizza sauce. Grease/spray a 9” x 13” pan and preheat the oven to 425°. Spread the meat mixture in the pan. Sprinkle the cheese on top. Mix the flour, eggs, milk, oil, and salt. Pour over the meat and bake uncovered for 25–30 minutes until browned. Cool for 10 minutes to set before serving.

Annie Mae’s Favorite Macaroni Salad

This is a fabulous salad that serves a crowd. The difference is in the dressing. Amish cooks tend to add sugar to their dressings. If you’re watching your calories, you can omit the sugar and still have a tasty dish that’ll be a hit at potlucks and picnics.

Bring a pot of water to boil, add macaroni, and cook according to package directions. Drain and set aside. In a large bowl, combine the chopped eggs and vegetables. In a smaller bowl, blend the rest of the ingredients, then combine this dressing with the macaroni, eggs, and vegetables. Cover and chill at least 2 hours (or overnight) before serving. Serves 10–12. Keeps about 3 days in the refrigerator.

Kitchen Hint:
I make this salad with whole wheat macaroni, which adds fiber and doesn’t change the taste a bit. I also like to mix pasta shapes, using a cup of each!

Look for the fifth Seasons of the Heart novel,

HARVEST OF BLESSINGS,

next February.

“Welcome back to Willow Ridge, Nora. It’s a pleasure doing business with you.”

How weird is this?
Sixteen years ago, Nora Landwehr had never imagined herself returning, much less accepting the keys to a prime property from the man who’d been the bishop when her father had sent her away. But this little Amish spot in the road had changed a lot. And so had she.

“Thanks, Hiram,” Nora murmured. “I hope I’ve done the right thing.”

“At least you’ve arrived while your parents are still alive—if you can call it that.” His gaze followed the road toward where the Glick house stood a ways back from the county blacktop. “Mending fences in your situation will be much like opening Pandora’s box. Once you raise the lid, all your secrets will swarm out like hornets, whether you’re ready or not.”

His choice of words made her wonder if she’d been wise to confide in Hiram Knepp . . . to even go through with this transaction. But it was too late for second-guessing. As her gaze swept the panorama of Willow Ridge farmsteads, Nora was amazed at what she saw. From this hilltop perspective, Willow Ridge looked like an idyllic little town where nothing hostile or cruel could ever happen—like Mayberry, or Walton’s Mountain. But appearances could be very deceiving. “So, does Tom Hostetler still live there where all those buggies are parked?”

“He does. He’s the bishop now.”

“This being Thursday . . . is that a wedding or a funeral?”

Beneath Hiram’s short laugh, Nora imagined the
bwah-hah-hah-hah
of a melodrama villain. “As you probably realize,” he replied wryly, “a wedding, in retrospect, might indeed be a funeral of sorts, depending upon how it all works out. Annie Mae’s marrying Adam Wagler today.”

Nora thought back . . . waaay back, to when Adam must’ve been about school-age and Annie Mae Knepp had been a toddler—

And you’re not there to see your daughter marry, Hiram?
She bit back her retort. Her Realtor had hinted that Hiram had committed even more heinous sins than she had . . . and after all, her father hadn’t attended
her
wedding, either. If Hiram had been run out of Willow Ridge, she and this man with the devilish black goatee had a lot in common.

Nora didn’t want to go there.

She was looking for a way to move Hiram along, so she could figure out where her major pieces of furniture would fit before the moving van got here. And yet, if everyone in town was at the wedding, this would be a fine time to look around....

“I’ll have my crew remove the Bishop’s Ridge entryway sign tomorrow.” Hiram’s voice sliced through her thoughts. “That way you won’t be living in my shadow.”

Nora didn’t miss the irony there. Every Amish colony lived in its bishop’s shadow—and she sensed the cloud over Willow Ridge had gotten a whole lot darker of late, even if Hiram no longer resided here. “That’ll be fine. Thanks again.”

“What will you do with that big barn? I miss that more than the house.”

Nora smiled. No need to tell this renegade everything, for who knew what he’d do with the information? “I have some ideas,” she hedged. “Figured I’d live here a while before I committed to any of them.”

Finally, Hiram was headed down the road in his classic, perfectly preserved black Cadillac. Nora closed her eyes as the summer breeze caressed her face. She’d really done it . . . spent her divorce settlement on this house and acreage with the huge barn, in the town where she’d probably be greeted with hatred and hostility as she stirred up old grudges like muck from the bottom of a farm pond.

But blood is thicker than water . . . isn’t it?

Once the shock and accusations ran their course, Nora sincerely hoped to reconnect with her family. To ask forgiveness and make her peace while creating a purposeful, productive new life. Was she acting even more naive and fanciful than when she’d believed Englischer Tanner Landwehr was her ticket to a storybook ending?

Nora glanced at her watch. Still an hour before the van was to arrive. She slid into her red Mercedes convertible to cruise town while she could still pass as an English tourist—not that anyone would see her. Everyone from Willow Ridge and the nearby Plain settlements would be at Adam and Annie Mae’s wedding.

Once on the county blacktop she turned left, away from town, and drove past a timbered mill with a picturesque water wheel. With its backdrop of river rocks, wildflowers, and majestic old trees shimmering in the breeze, the mill at Willow Ridge was a scene straight out of a Thomas Kinkade painting.

Nora turned back toward town. Henry and Lydia Zook’s home looked added-onto yet again, and Zook’s Market had expanded, as well. The white wooden structure sported a new blue metal roof that glimmered in the afternoon sunlight. A handwritten sign on the door proclaimed the store closed today for the Knepp-Wagler wedding.

Purposely not looking at her childhood home yet, Nora focused on the fine new house built on what had been the northeast corner of her father’s farm. Across the road sat a building that housed the Sweet Seasons Bakery Café and a quilt shop—more new additions, although she recalled the blacksmith shop behind them, and the large white home down the lane, which had belonged to Jesse Lantz. From what she could tell on the Internet, Jesse had passed on and Miriam had opened a bustling business. Who could’ve guessed an Amish woman would have a website with delectable pictures of her meals and bakery specialties?

A little way down the road stood the Willow Ridge Clinic, with what appeared to be a horse-drawn medical wagon parked beside it. Yet more startling changes . . . but as Nora headed down the gravel road on the left, the Brenneman Cabinet Shop looked the same as always. So did Reuben Riehl’s place, and Tom Hostetler’s dairy farm, where black-and-white cows grazed placidly in the pasture with the red barn in back of the tall white farmhouse. Dozens of black buggies were parked along the lane and around the side of the barn, yet the place looked as manicured as her former lawn in Ladue. Not so much as a scrap of paper or a missing shingle marred the Plain perfection of this scene.

The sound of an ancient hymn drifting out Tom’s windows compelled Nora to stop. She’d all but forgotten the German words, yet the power of hundreds of voices singing in one accord made her suck in her breath. She swallowed hard as the melody seeped into her soul, its slow, steady cadence stilling the beat of her heart.

Quickly swiping at tears, she drove on. Could she
really
go back to three-hour church services, hard wooden pew benches, and endless, droning sermons? She couldn’t recall the last time she’d attended a worship service. You couldn’t consider a quickie ceremony in a Vegas wedding chapel
worship,
after all.

Maybe you won’t have to worry about sitting through church. You haven’t been allowed back into the fellowship yet. Haven’t been forgiven.

Nora drove around the large loop that passed the Kanagy place and then a few homes where the Schrocks and other Mennonite families lived. She rolled past the fork that led to Atlee and Lizzie Glick’s place—she wasn’t ready to go down
that
road yet—and followed the curve that meandered in front of the Waglers’ house and then past her own new residence. Definitely the finest house in town.

But what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world and lose his own soul?

Nora let out a humorless laugh. Her father, ever the sanctimonious Preacher Gabe even among his immediate family, had often quoted that verse to chastise her for wanting new dresses or some doodad she’d seen at Zook’s. The mere memory of his harsh discipline tightened her chest even after sixteen years of living in the English world. If that was her visceral reaction without even seeing him, how did she think she could face him in person? So much water had gone under that proverbial bridge that Gabriel Glick would never,
ever
cross it to see his errant, banished daughter.

Nora brought herself back into the present. The moving van hadn’t yet arrived, so she pulled back onto the county highway where she’d begun her trip down memory lane. While everyone in town was at the wedding, she had the perfect chance to revisit her childhood home. To prepare herself for the ordeal she would soon face.

She pulled into the lane and parked behind the house . . . slipped into the back door, knowing it wouldn’t be locked. Stood in the kitchen, which appeared smaller and shabbier than she recalled, as though it hadn’t seen fresh paint since she’d left. How odd—and how sad—to stand in this hub of the house and not detect even a whiff of breakfast.

Nora moved on before she lost her nerve. She felt like an intruder—and she wanted to be long gone before anyone came home from the wedding. She peeked into the small downstairs room where she and her mother had sewn the family’s clothes on an ancient treadle machine—

Nora gaped. On a twin bed lay a motionless female form, like a corpse laid out in a casket. Was this what Hiram had meant by implying her parents were barely alive? Did she dare approach, or would this woman pop up like a zombie from an old horror movie and leer at her with hollowed eyes and a toothless grin? Nora wanted to bolt, yet she felt compelled to at least look this woman—surely her mother—in the face. If Mamm was so far gone, why wasn’t someone sitting with her? Or was she merely napping, too tired to attend the wedding?

Holding her breath, Nora slipped silently to the bedside. Even though the room felt stuffy in the July heat, a faded quilt covered her mother’s shriveled form up to her chin. A
kapp
concealed all but the front of her white hair, so all Nora saw was a pallid face etched with wrinkles. The eyes were closed, and again Nora felt as though she was observing a stranger in a casket rather than looking at her own mother. Last time she’d seen Mamm, her face had been contorted with indignation as disgust hardened her piercing hazel eyes—

And suddenly those eyes were focused on her.

Nora froze, unable to look away. Not a muscle moved in her mother’s face yet Mamm’s gaze didn’t waver—until her eyes widened with recognition. Or was it disbelief, or fear? Or an emotion Nora couldn’t interpret without other facial cues?

She didn’t stick around to figure that out. Hurrying from the airless room and back through the kitchen, Nora burst through the back door. She couldn’t gulp air fast enough as she climbed into her car and sped down the lane. She felt as though she’d stared Death in the face and Death had stared right back. If she looked in the rearview mirror, would a skeleton in a cape dress and
kapp
be chasing after her?

Her tires squealed as she turned onto the hot blacktop and sped toward her new home. What a relief to see the moving van lumbering across the bridge by the mill! Nora made the turn onto Bishop’s Ridge Road too fast and fishtailed in the gravel, righting herself just in time to steer up the driveway toward the house. She pulled around behind the huge barn—to be out of the movers’ way, but also because she felt compelled to conceal her car.

Better get over
that, she chided herself as she got out.
You live here now, whether the neighbors like it or not.

She was approaching the house when a tall, broad-shouldered figure stepped out of the shade behind it. His straw hat, broadfall pants, and suspenders announced him as Plain, and there was no mistaking the fascination on his handsome face. Yet Nora hesitated. Had this stranger been roaming around in her house?
Note to self: call a locksmith.

“Something I can help you with?” she asked breezily. Better to believe in basic Amish honesty than to accuse him of something he might not have done. It wasn’t as if he could take anything from her empty house.

“Just coming over to meet my new neighbor,” he replied in a resonant voice. “I’m Luke Hooley. That’s my gristmill on the river.”