The Way to a Man's Heart (The Miller Family 3) (34 page)

Matt sat rocking on the porch like an old man. If there were some kind of get-together tonight, he hadn’t heard about it. Leah had stayed up in her room all day complaining of a headache, so he couldn’t rely on her to let him know about bonfires, hayrides, or marshmallow roasts.

Not that it would make much difference. He’d seen Martha talking and laughing with John Yoder with his own eyes. Then Rachel said she had accepted a ride home with him. Any interest Martha had had in Matthew must have existed only in his own mind.

Why did I even come home for the weekend?
If he’d stayed in Sugar Creek and kept working, he wouldn’t have passed her farm and been reminded of lost chances. As he stared off at the darkening fields where tied cornstalks stood like sentinels, he heard the sound of a diesel truck engine winding down. A double-axle pickup turned into their driveway and slowly approached the house. The decal on the driver’s door read Macintosh Farms. Matt couldn’t fathom who would stop for a visit; his list of former work friends was short. When the door opened, a distinguished-looking gentleman stepped out wearing a fancy wool blazer.

“Hello, Matthew. How have you been?”

“Mr. Mac,” stuttered Matt, “what are you doin’ here?” He scrambled to his feet, flabbergasted.

“You probably wouldn’t believe me if I said I was in the neighborhood,” he chuckled. “So I’ll be straight with you. Mind if I come onto the porch and sit a spell?”

“Sure, come on up. You want some coffee or something?”

“Nah, I’m good. Thanks.” Mr. Mac took the rocker just vacated, so Matt pulled a green lawn chair close to his former boss.

“I won’t beat around the bush, son. I fired Jeff Andrews—what I should’ve done long ago. When you came to see me to explain what Andrews was doing, I thought it was an isolated incident. I chose to look the other way and that was wrong. Since then two other owners pulled their horses from my training facility after more of Andrews’ shenanigans. And if word gets around, others might follow suit. My reputation’s at stake, and I have no one to blame but myself.” He paused to study Matt’s face.

Matthew had no idea what kind of response Mr. Mac expected as he wrung his hands nervously.
“Jah,
Andrews was a bad sort,” he said.

“Yeah, he was. I should have kept him on a tight leash, but I didn’t come here just to talk about him. I came to talk about you. One owner asked which stable you went to work for. I said you worked out of your home, mainly for the Amish.”

Matthew nodded, choosing to remain silent.

“I’m asking you to come back to work for me. I’ll pay you what I paid that bum Andrews. I know you folk don’t use insurance, but if you want medical benefits I’ll pay those too, along with three weeks vacation and all the normal holidays.”

Neither man spoke for several moments as moths batted their wings around the porch light. Finally Mr. Macintosh asked, “What do you say?”

“I’m curious—what was Jeff earning?”

The figure quoted made the hairs on Matt’s neck stand on end. He whistled through his teeth, trying to imagine what he would do with so much money. The bank would surely give him a loan for the Lee acreage with that kind of salary. Not that he had any pressing need to build himself a house with Martha courting somebody else. He met the man’s gaze. “That’s more than I thought. A lot more.”

“So you’ll take the job? I think you’ll like the place now that—”

“No,” Matthew interrupted before he changed his mind. The love of money could skew a man’s good judgment. “Don’t think I don’t appreciate the offer, sir, but I’m contracted to work several months down in Sugar Creek. Once that’s done, I’ll need to catch up on local work. Plus I like not being tied to a job in case my pa needs me.” He glanced inside the kitchen, where his parents sat drinking their evening cups of tea.

“I don’t suppose there’s something I can add to sweeten the pot?”

“No, sir, can’t think of anything, but I’m honored you made the offer. Thanks for stopping by.” He stood and extended his hand.

“Hold on there a minute.” Macintosh held up his palms instead of shaking. “Didn’t you say you’re doing contract work?” He rose to his feet too.

“I did, at a riding academy.”

“Why don’t you contract with me…say six months out of the year. Three months in the summer after the planting’s done, and the three winter months after the harvest is in. That way you’ll be home when your father needs you, and I’ll have the extra help when I need it most.” He looked at Matt with anticipation.

Matt scratched his stubbly chin. “That sounds good, but I first have to see this contract through, plus I’ll want to talk to my pa. Can I call you from our neighbors’ with my answer?”

“That’ll be fine,” his former boss agreed as he stuck out his hand.

Matt pumped it eagerly. “Thanks. I’ll be in touch.”

Mr. Macintosh bent to look inside the kitchen window. “Your place is real nice. You’re a lucky man, son.” He nodded and walked down the steps to his truck, leaving Matthew pondering his lucrative but lonely future.

Leah had planned to tell her parents anyway. After all, she couldn’t hide for the rest of her life up in her room. Today was Saturday—formerly the diner’s busiest day. Her parents knew it would take something far worse than a headache to keep her home. Dressing in her shabbiest clothes, Leah went downstairs feeling guilty, despite the fact
she
had never forgotten to ring up a sale.

Her parents sat at the kitchen table with mugs of coffee untouched and cooling before them. An open newspaper had been spread out and they pored over a story. Leah walked straight to the coffeepot.
“Guder mariye,” she
greeted. “Something interesting in the newspaper?”

Two pairs of dark eyes turned toward her. Her
mamm
and
daed
stared as though she’d turned unrecognizable while asleep.

“What’s wrong?” she asked with growing anxiety.

“This!” Simon stabbed the paper with his finger.

Leah leaned over his shoulder to read aloud. “Local diner closed. Owner arrested on suspicion of fraud.” Her eyes quickly scanned the story and locked on April Lambright’s name and “Leah’s Home Cooking.” She stopped reading and slumped into a chair. “This is worse than I thought,” she moaned.

Simon shook the edge of the newspaper. “Mr. Lee walked over at dawn after picking this paper up yesterday in Wooster. He was real upset. This says that your partner wrote at least a dozen checks from an already overdrawn checking account. Folk who got these checks deposited them in their bank accounts and paid bills, thinking the money was there. Mrs. Lambright caused an avalanche of problems for these people, one right after another.” Simon glared at her while Julia wrung her hands as if she were doing arthritis exercises.

“I didn’t pay any bills. April took care of all that.”

“No, Leah, it looks like
no one
took care of that!” Simon stormed. “And that kind of behavior is called fraud.”

Julia spoke in a gentler voice. “Didn’t you know this was going on? Couldn’t you have stopped her? Lots of folk are hoppin’ mad, and she’s sitting in the county jail right now.”

“Mamm,
I asked her if we were current with bills and she said yes. She lied to me.”

“That’s not all, young lady,” Simon blustered. “The paper says the landlord has evicted you two and that the state might be bringing charges. If your restaurant was collecting sales tax on restaurant meals, nobody sent a dime of it into the state treasury. They’re not real happy about that.”

With trembling fingers Leah reached for her coffee and drank down half.

“How much did you know abut this, Leah?” Julia asked. “I take it this is the source of yesterday’s migraine.”

“You could say that,” she murmured.

“You’d better be saying a lot more than you are, daughter.” Simon’s face had turned the color of mulled cider.

Leah refilled her mug and began the saga of her short history as a restaurant partner. She told about the drawer of late notices, the unhappy vendors speaking to April behind closed doors, and the embarrassing trip to the poultry farm. She culminated with the visit from the nasty Mr. Jenkins two days earlier. When she placed a harsh inflection on the landlord’s behavior, her father interrupted.

“Don’t be taking that attitude, Leah. That landlord deserves to be paid the rent fully and on time. He’s not the bad guy here.”

Leah relaxed her tense shoulders. “I know, but April spent a lot of money remodeling the train cars to turn them into a diner—some of it her own, some borrowed from her father.”

“All the more reason she needed to pay the rent, to protect her investment as well as her good name…and yours, I might add!”

Leah sipped her coffee, wishing she’d never seen that rundown train.

“Did she really get turned away at the organic turkey farm?” Julia asked.

Leah could only nod her head.

Simon leaned toward her. “People coming to the diner to demand payment…that’s not good. How many people in Holmes County does she owe money to?”

A shrug of the shoulders was Leah’s second nonverbal reply as she concentrated on not weeping. This was an adult mess. She wouldn’t respond like a little girl. Tension in her back and shoulders returned with a vengeance.

Simon wouldn’t let the matter drop. “Local folk showing up at the diner for a meal and finding the place padlocked…do you understand how bad this looks? It reflects on your character too, not just Mrs. Lambright’s.” He stared, waiting for an answer she didn’t have.

Leah downed her coffee, feeling the burn in the back of her throat. She might as well get everything out in the open, not leaving out a single detail. She couldn’t endure another conversation with her parents if more sordid information reached their ears. “It wasn’t just her father and husband she borrowed money from to get started,” she said.

Her parents gazed at her with utter disbelief as she revealed where most of her savings account had gone.

Helping
mamm
in the house and Henry with farm chores kept Leah busy and her mind off the fact she no longer had a job to go to. She also no longer had a paycheck to help with household expenses. With the first frost just around the corner she couldn’t plant extra vegetables to sell. Any apples or pears left on the trees would be bird pecked by now. She couldn’t work for Aunt Hannah because spinning and weaving wool made her allergies unbearable. Mrs. Lee already employed a girl for housecleaning once a week. That only left her pie making. April hadn’t reimbursed her for the last baking supplies. She would have to spend some of her decimated savings to stock up.

“Leah!” Julia’s voice finally pierced her daydreaming. “I’ve been calling you for ten minutes.” Her head appeared in the henhouse doorway. “What are you doing?”

“Changing straw in the chicken cages and washing water bowls.”

“With your allergies? Come out of there. Henry will finish that. You need to go take a shower.”

“Why?” Leah patted the straw down and closed the cage door. One hen offered an appreciative cluck.

“Because you’re going with me to quilting today. And don’t even think of arguing. You can’t hide from people. You’re guilty of being naive and nonconfrontational, that’s all. I know you are nineteen now, but most young people your age are naive. By the time you’re my age you won’t be so trusting.”

Leah looked into Julia’s warm brown eyes and felt that she might just survive this nightmare. “All right, I’ll come to quilting. It’s been a long while since I’ve done anything like that. And I can’t wait to put this behind me.”

Mother and daughter walked to the house with linked arms. Autumn leaves swirled at their feet while migrating ducks flew in formation overhead toward sunnier states. Leah found a sense of peace on the buggy ride over to the house hosting the bee. But her serenity didn’t last five minutes once inside the door.

Their hostess greeted them in the kitchen. Mrs. Walters hugged Julia and offered Leah a shy smile. They added their pie to the plates of cookies brought by the ladies for snack time. But when they entered the living room with their sewing baskets, welcoming smiles were few. Most ladies stared at Leah with blank faces devoid of emotion, while a few younger gals stared with open hostility.