The Amish Baker. Marie E. Bast
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his hat off, swiped a hand over his brow and then plopped his hat back on his head.
His mind steered his hands back to the job at hand. As he unhitched the horse and walked him to his stall, Caleb tried to push Sarah’s image from his head. What was wrong with him? He was acting like a sixteen-year-old bu who was getting ready to court.
This was nonsense. Martha had died only a year ago; it wasn’t time to start thinking about getting another frau.
Nein. Nein. Too soon.
* * *
Sarah glanced up as Melinda Miller maneuvered her shopping bags through the bakery doorway. “Congratulations on your sohn. I have a boppli gift for little Abraham’s mamm and daed to enjoy.” Sarah scooted to the kitchen, snatched the gift box off a table, returned to the front and handed the box to the new mamm. “I was going to drop it by after work today, but you saved me the trip.”
Melinda lifted the cover enough to peek in. “It’s a cookie shaped like a little buggy with a boppli in it. It looks delicious. Danki, Sarah.” She leaned over the counter, her face beaming like that of a five-year-old girl with a new dress. “A dozen maple-pecan rolls. Motherhood is wunderbaar. Too bad you and Samuel never had kinner.”
The words slammed into Sarah, wrapped around her scarred heart and squeezed. She and Samuel had wanted a kind, a child. Concealing the ache in her chest with a smile barely there, she worked swiftly to bag the order and hand it to Melinda. She took the money, slipped it into the drawer and then slumped a hip against the counter to help ease the pain.
“Danki, Sarah. I’ll see you next week.” Melinda opened the door carefully, trying not to bump her baked goods while guiding her shopping bags.
Alvin Studer held the door for Melinda. When she was through, he entered.
He walked by the display case, slowly checking out the sweets. “You’re a gut cook, Sarah.”
“Danki, Alvin, but you mean baker.”
“What?” He looked up, his eyes full of puzzlement.
“Never mind.” She waited for his order as he paced the floor, looking at breads and rolls, then stealing glances at her. He bent his tall, lanky frame closer to the display case and peered inside. His long face twisted with indecision.
Sarah’s mind wandered back to Caleb Brenneman. Remembering his handsome face pulled a smile across her mouth as she fought to push it away. Most Amish men didn’t come into the bakery, so she’d probably never see him again. That was gut—she’d forget about him in a few days.
“Have you made a selection yet, Alvin?”
He stepped to the counter and gave her a smile while his eyes roved over her. “A loaf of cinnamon-raisin bread.” He hesitated. “Would you like to go for a buggy ride with me Saturday night, Sarah?”
Stunned, she stepped back. She didn’t want to go for a ride with Alvin, or any other man. She had her life. It was comfortable, and she liked things as they were. But with Alvin, she’d heard he had hit his last frau, so the answer was an emphatic nein. Yet the idea of courting anyone who wasn’t Samuel frightened her.
How should she answer Alvin? She hated to be rude, though she wanted no misunderstanding in how she felt. “Danki, Alvin, but my shop requires all my time. When I’m not out front, I’m in the back, baking. I have no free time to squeeze in a buggy ride. Sorry, but that’s the life of a baker.”
His eyes turned dark and mean. His expression hinted that he wanted to say something but didn’t.
She drew in a ragged breath. Her hands fumbled as she plucked the bread from the shelf, almost dropping it. She shoved the loaf in a sack and set it on the counter. “Danki, Alvin.”
He stared at her. The doorbell jingled twice as the stout Bertha Bontrager bumped the door with her hip as she entered. Alvin didn’t flinch at the noise.
Sarah blew out the breath she was holding. “Afternoon, Bertha. What can I do for you today?”
“The bishop said you’d be receptive to my invitation,” Alvin whispered as he tossed Sarah a cold look and laid a five-dollar bill on the counter. “Keep the change. I’ll see you next time.” He grabbed his sack and stomped out the door.
Sarah was stunned and winced as a shiver ran up her spine.
* * *
Sarah took advantage of the lull in business after the lunch hour and wiped down the counter. The door opened and Hannah whooshed in like a butterfly.
“Hullo. Sorry I’m late. My appointment took longer than I thought it would.”
“Don’t worry. I managed just fine.”
Hannah hurried to the sink and washed her hands while Sarah loaded a tray with cookies. “Have you baked the afternoon order yet?”
“Nein. I’ve been too busy.”
Hannah disappeared through the kitchen doorway. “I’ll start it.”
After the bell tinkled, a cool breeze swept over Sarah. She glanced up from cleaning the display case and froze as Bishop Yoder approached the counter.
“Do you have a cup of coffee and a slice of banana bread left? I’d like to sit and rest a spell.”
“Jah, but it’s the last cup of coffee in the pot so it’s free. Sit. I’ll bring it to the table.”
Her stomach roiled at the bishop’s presence. She poured the strong brew and laid a slice of banana bread on a plate. She drew a deep breath. He very seldom came into her bakery. His frau was one of the best cooks in the community. She carried a tray with his coffee and banana bread to the table and set it down in front of him. “Enjoy, Bishop Yoder.”
“Danki, Sarah. Please sit and join me.”
Her feet itched to move away. “Only for a minute—I have to start cleaning the display case for closing.”
“This will only take a minute.” He took a bite of the banana bread, then a sip of coffee. “This bread is very gut.”
She pulled a wooden chair away from the table and sat.
“I believe Alvin Studer came into the bakery and asked you to join him for a buggy ride. He is a gut man and his six kinner need a mamm.”
A shiver ran up her spine as she averted her eyes from the bishop’s face. “Jah. He did ask. I was busy and didn’t have time to talk with him.” It was only a little white lie.
“Sarah, it’s Gott’s will that you remarry. Each person in our church must lose the desire for self and think of the community. That is what we believe. Jah, it’s time for you to sell the bakery. It’s Satan’s lie that makes you think that a career outside the home is fulfilling. Alvin needs a frau and mamm for his kinner.” His eyes pierced hers like the tiny, sharp point on a straight pin.
The bishop was matchmaking her!
Plop...plop.
Caleb stopped and listened.
Plop. The sound cut through the still afternoon. He turned his head in the direction of the pond but couldn’t see past the grove of maple trees. Maybe an animal skittered over the water. He trained his concentration back to the job at hand.
Plop...plop.
Caleb listened. Jah, definitely coming from the pond. Surely Jacob hadn’t skipped school again to go fishing.
He