The Way to a Man's Heart (The Miller Family 3) (18 page)

Leah was appalled. She glanced quickly around to make sure he hadn’t been overheard and then glanced skyward too. Never before had a person spoken so blasphemously in her presence. Yet her second reaction was one of sheer pity. How awful Jonah must feel to be separated from the one true Helper. “Let’s sit for a minute,” she said, pointing at a bench. “Tell me what happened that made you think like this.”

He sat down heavily and squinted into the thin moonlight, as though trying to see something that wasn’t there. “When my
daed
got sick, I prayed morning, noon, and night that he would be spared, as did my
mamm
and plenty of others. I worked my tail off at the farm and earned extra money on the side for medical treatments. I didn’t mind; I managed everything while
mamm
stayed at the hospital in Kenosha.” He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. “When she brought him home, he went straight downhill and died. I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye.”

Leah reached out to pat his hand, but Jonah didn’t seem to notice. Sorrow had closed around him like heavy fog.

“Afterward, I continued to work from dawn till dark to keep the farm going. And I prayed constantly that we’d be able to stay right where we were. But my
mamm
got it in her head to sell the place and move here. I had to leave everyone I knew and everything I loved behind. So I learned that prayer works fine for some people, but not so good for me.” His voice had drifted to a raspy whisper.

A question niggled at Leah, one she had to ask. “Did you leave someone special back in Wisconsin?”

Jonah turned on the bench, but she was thankful darkness hid her anxious face. “I’d started to court a gal, but I didn’t know if it was love. We surely didn’t know if we wanted to spend our lives together by the time I moved.”

“You sound mad at your mother besides God.”

He released a humorless laugh. “I begged to stay behind, Leah. I wanted to buy the place and make payments until I’d paid her what it was worth. I didn’t care if I had to work sixteen-hour days. But
mamm
insisted I move here to help
dawdi.
I’m a grown man, yet she treated me like a child.”

“Are you still angry with her?” Leah heard the childlike tone of her voice.

“No, sweet girl, not anymore. Let’s go back inside before your
bruder
wonders where you are.” He pulled her to her feet and started to walk back to the barn.

She didn’t get a chance to ask if he was still mad at God. But then again, she thought she already knew the answer to that.

Matthew breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Leah walking toward him at the end of the evening. He’d hoped she wouldn’t accept a ride from the new dairy farmer because he needed his sister’s advice. With so many ideas buzzing around his head, he thought it might explode.

“Glad you’re coming home with me,” he said as Leah stepped up into the buggy.

She glanced around. “Aren’t we taking Martha home? Didn’t you ask her?” She sounded exasperated.

“Hold your horses. I’m not a man who rushes things.” He shook the reins gently and the horse started at a slow gait.

“That’s an understatement! Once word gets around she’s no longer courting Joseph Kauffman of Berlin, plenty of boys will step up. You’d best not wait too long.”

“Leah, I don’t need something else to worry about. My plate’s already full.”

“Just giving you a little sisterly advice.” She crossed her arms over her shawl.

He huffed out his breath. “I do want to court Martha. She’s the reason I’m working at Macintosh Farms, and trying to save enough to buy the acres off Mr. Lee that he’s thinkin’ about selling.”

“That’s
wunderbaar
! You would build your house right across the street?”

“That’s my dream, except it looks like I won’t be working at that English horse farm much longer.”

Leah turned on the seat and demanded. “Why ever not? You make a good salary there. Why quit before you have enough money saved?”

Reluctantly, he sketched out his woeful tale with Jeff Andrews and finished with the encouraging conversation with James Davis.

“Oh, my. I can’t believe Mr. Mac wasn’t furious with that trainer.”

“Me neither. If he seemed miffed with anybody, it was with me.” He inhaled a lungful of air while waiting for traffic to clear at the stop sign. “So what do you think?”

Leah shook her head. “About Mr. Mac?”

“No, about Jamie’s idea…about me striking out on my own.”

She looked bewildered. “Matty, I’m not the best person to ask. I don’t know anything about the horse business. I’m having a hard enough time learning about restaurants. All I can say is talk to
daed
and the bishop. They would know if you could make a go of it or not.”

Matthew clucked his tongue and the horse picked up the snail-pace, wondering why he hadn’t thought of that. Between his pa and the bishop, they knew everyone in the surrounding area. If this idea were feasible they would know. He decided to change the subject. “How are things going with you and Jonah?”

Leah flashed him a glare. “We’re not courting if that’s what you’re asking. And don’t start spreading rumors to the contrary.”

“Simmer down. I was just making conversation. After all, I saw you two walk outdoors, and before that there was your sudden interest in the Mount Hope horse auction.”

Leah seemed to be suffering from acid indigestion. “Jonah Byler is very confusing. Part of me wants to know him better, while this little voice keeps warning ‘Beware.’ ”

Matthew snorted. “How mysterious could a guy be who milks cows for a living?”

Her forehead furrowed into creases while she chewed her lower lip. He decided to let the matter drop. Turning up their driveway, he saw that the barn lights were still on. Good.
Daed
must still be up and he could talk to him.

Leah jumped out as he pulled up in front of the house,
“Gut nacht,”
she called.

Matthew unhitched the horse and led him into the barn. He found Simon rubbing down a mare.

“You’re home,” Simon stated as Matthew entered the adjacent stall.

“Jah,
Leah’s already in the house. Weddin’ supper was real nice. Good eats.” Matthew took a brush and applied it to his gelding’s coat with long, smooth strokes.

“All well and good, but I got a bone to pick with you, son.”

Matthew tensed as he waited.

“Henry did your chores again today and that ain’t right. You came home from work long enough to shower and change clothes and then you left.”

“It was my first weddin’ supper, Pa. I don’t get too many invites.” He decided not to mention anything about Martha.

“I don’t care if it was your first supper or your fiftieth. I need Henry helping me in the fields, not doing your livestock and barn chores. You said working for that
Englischer
wouldn’t affect your home life, but that ain’t the case.” Simon breathed heavily before continuing. “You will pay your
bruder
for helping you today since the almighty dollar has such great importance to you. And you will not stick your chores on him again without checking with me first. Hebrews 13:5 says: ‘Keep your lives free from the love of money and be content with what you have.’”

How his father managed to put so much authority into Scripture amazed Matthew, but he knew he had no defense. He exhaled through his teeth. “I can’t argue,” he said. “I’ll pay Henry my full day’s wages.” He continued to work tangles from the gelding’s mane.

Simon’s head snapped up. Apparently he’d been expecting a different response. “All right, son. Finish up and get to bed. Everything else in here is set for the night.”

His pa walked off slowly—the years were taking a toll on him. Matthew felt a wave of guilt wash over him for not keeping his promise. Maybe working for himself from home would have advantages money couldn’t buy.

L
eah finished mopping the diner floor and headed into the kitchen to clean up in there. It had been April’s turn to leave work early for a doctor’s appointment. Leah was glad that the last lunch customers hadn’t lingered. She would make a couple pies before she went home, primarily to measure each ingredient that went into her Peach Parfait Supreme pie. She didn’t usually follow a recipe exactly, but she would need a precise ingredient list and instructions to send to the bake-off people.

Excitement built in her veins like an old-fashioned iron tonic. She thought of ideas for plate presentation that should move her to the head of the herd of bakers. Her favorite was the basket weave pattern: She would draw a crisscross pattern using a tube of peach jam and then dust the plate with cinnamon and brown sugar. The sugar adhered to the jam to create a yummy, pretty design. She often decorated the plates for the daily breakfast special of French toast or pancakes. Softly singing a hymn, she finished her pies and the recipe. Baking couldn’t be considered work when it brought her so much joy.

With the pies in the oven, Leah sat down at the small desk by the back door. April kept her checkbook and ledgers there, along with store flyers, shopping lists, and product catalogs. Leah hunted for an attractive card to copy her recipe onto instead of using the back of an envelope. What she found instead made her breath catch in her throat and her stomach tighten. Bills, invoices, and final notices filled the top drawer. She spotted more shoved underneath cookbooks in the side drawers. Leah ruffled through a few letters and then shut the drawer, bewildered.

Snooping wasn’t very nice. Yet on the other hand, wasn’t she a partner? Shouldn’t she know what was going on financially? Reopening the top drawer, she pulled out an especially insistent-looking envelope and peeked inside. She scanned the notice to discover it was from the State of Ohio, Department of Taxation. They wanted remittance for the sales tax collected on restaurant purchases. It was their second request. Leah felt queasy as she carefully shut the drawer.

Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen April writing in the ledgers since they got busy during the second week. Wasn’t she keeping accurate records of the meals they sold? You can’t very well remit taxes if you didn’t know how much you owe.

Leah finished cleaning the kitchen while the pies baked, and then she placed them to cool in the pie safe. After she locked up the diner, the drive home provided plenty of time for contemplation. If she told her parents what she’d seen, and if
daed
felt April wasn’t running things properly, he would make her quit. There might be a logical explanation for the drawer full of bills. Perhaps April had paid the bills but neglected to file away stubs and throw out envelopes. Even the sales tax request might have crossed paths in the mail with the payment. She was no longer a little girl who ran to her
mamm
with every problem. Instead, she would pray that April caught up with the record-keeping and bill-paying. No business in the world ran wrinkle free during the first year.

When Leah arrived home, she found Rachel pacing the length of the front porch. “Where have you been?” her friend asked the moment Leah reached the house.

“Baking pies after work. What’s up?”

“Please say you’ll come with me tonight. I’m barrel-racing over at Yosts’ farm and I need supporters. Martha is coming but she refuses to yell loudly.”

“That’s tonight?” Leah asked, feeling exhausted. Rachel had mentioned the competition, but Leah had forgotten to write down the date.

“Jah,
it’s tonight. Please say yes. I’ve been practicing every day.” Rachel’s round face pinched into a frown.

“Of course, as long as
mamm
says it’s okay.” Leah handed Henry the reins and headed into the house. She silently hoped Julia needed her because she was too tired to go anywhere. But a pot of soup was already simmering on the stove and her
daed
had gone out on deacon business.
Mamm
told her to have a nice time.

Leah changed clothes, climbed into Rachel’s buggy, and sat next to Martha. Rachel’s racing horse was tethered to the back as they set off. Rachel looked joyous as Leah asked polite questions along the way, despite her opinion that horse-racing was an inappropriate pastime for girls. Once they arrived at the Yosts’, Leah’s opinion began to change. So many young people had shown up—both male and female—that her fatigue melted into anticipation. Leah soon learned that barrel-racing was primarily a female sport, at least in the Plain world, and that many girls thought horses were delightful creatures to associate with.