Starting from Scratch Page 3

  Rubbing his chin with his knuckles, Stephen appeared uncomfortable. “Shall I show you the café now?”

  “Yah, sure.” I tried to insert a ring of enthusiasm into my voice. For an Englischer, Stephen seemed to know the Amish well.

  He moved toward the door just as a young Amish woman carrying towels glided onto the porch. I had a multitude of questions I still wanted to ask Stephen, but our conversation would have to wait.

  “Oh.” Her eyes widened. I was glad the door was open. The last thing I needed was to be seen as a loose woman, something I wasn’t and never had been. But shaking a bad reputation was like pulling your foot out of a wasp’s nest without getting stung.

  “Eva, this is Susie.”

  “Nice ta meetcha,” we said in unison and then both chuckled.

  Susie seemed around seventeen. Maybe younger. “I brought ya clean towels.”

  “I wasn’t expecting to be waited on, but I’m delighted. I neglected to bring towels and a washcloth.” What else had I forgotten?

  “Edna left them. They’re nice and soft. So are the bed linens she left.” Susie stepped into the bathroom and spoke to us through the open door. “I do several loads of laundry for the nursery every day anyway, so it’s no trouble to do whatever washing you need done. Really.” She hung the pale pink towels on a rack.

  “Denki.”

  “My bruder Mark works here too.”

  “He’s quite popular with the young ladies,” Stephen said.

  “Yah, he is.” Susie sent me a grin.

  “But no time to chitchat right now,” Stephen informed her in a no-nonsense manner, as if he wanted her to get back to work. “We’re off to the café.”

  As I followed Stephen down the steps, a black cat streaked across our path. I inhaled the heavenly aromas of sarcococca and daphne. The early-blooming flowers must be nearby. On either side of the pathway, pansies, bleeding hearts, and blooming hellebore grabbed my attention, along with many species I didn’t recognize. Clumps of miniature daffodils and tulips pressed their way through the earth. But there wasn’t time to investigate now.

  I increased my speed to keep up with Stephen’s long legs. We strode by the main house and the enormous glass greenhouses I was dying to explore.

  We passed several young, clean-shaven Amish men wearing straw hats. They spoke to Stephen in Deitsch, asking questions and listening to his instructions. I was surprised to hear him speaking to them in fluent Pennsylvania Dutch.

  One of the young men tipped his hat at me and sent me a goofy grin that seemed flirtatious. But he was too young for me.

  THREE

  The nursery was magnificent, but nothing prepared me for the charm and eloquence of the café, which stood behind the last greenhouse. As I entered, I inhaled the fragrance of the tropical plants embellishing it. Near the entrance to the right-hand side was a raised fishpond with a small waterfall. About eight orange and speckled fish swam toward us as if without fear.

  “Want a snack, fellas?” Stephen reached into a can, gathered a portion of pellets, and sprinkled them onto the water. The bold fish swished to the surface to gobble them up, causing the water to ripple. “These are Japanese koi,” he told me. “They’re consummate beggars, so don’t overfeed them.”

  The spacious room was high ceilinged, and two of the walls were glass, allowing me to watch workers carrying plants or pushing wheelbarrows. Oak chairs clustered around a dozen tables. Ahead, an expansive glass case stood by a cash register. Half of the case was dedicated to salads, such as beet, coleslaw, and fruit, and the other half was filled with what could only be Olivia’s baked goods: whoopie pies stuffed with fluffy, whipped filling; fruit tarts; slices of zucchini bread; muffins; and carrot cake. My mouth watered as I stared into the case to admire the display of delectable items I’d never be able to make. I gulped. What had I gotten myself into?

  Stephen stood at my side. “Olivia is still sending baked goods. Her brother delivers them on his way to work.”

  “Wonderful.” I could hear too much enthusiasm and relief in my declaration. I steadied myself. “What other foods do you serve?”

  “A soup of the day and cold sandwiches. See the chalkboard sign up there?”

  I lifted my chin and caught sight of the framed board and the words Potato Soup in neat cursive writing. Below that was written Ham and Swiss on Rye. “Sounds gut.”

  Stephen scanned the room. Two couples sat chatting at a table, and one man read a newspaper while sipping coffee. “Not many people in here right now,” he said, “but some days we get swamped.”

  I noticed a low table off to the left with flatware, napkins, mugs, paper cups, a water dispenser, and a large coffee urn and carafe of hot water. The place seemed to be self-service for the most part. A stack of magazines and copies of the local newspaper fanned across a stout table.

  Rock music suddenly blasted from the back of the building. I assumed it was emanating from the kitchen.

  “What the—” Stephen’s flattened hand flew out. He ping-pinged on a low metal bell and then leaned over the counter. “Where is everyone? Sadie? Jennifer?”

  The music fell silent. A moment later, two late-teen Amish girls poked their heads out from the kitchen.

  “Someone must be on the floor or at the register at all times,” Stephen said. “And keep that radio turned off.”

  Both girls tittered, their hands covering their mouths as they gulped down what appeared to be corn bread—a crumb adhered to one of the girls’ lower lip.

  Stephen turned to me. “You see why I need an adult working here?”

  I smiled, not wanting to seem mean to the two young ladies. But I was a mature adult compared to these girls.

  “Can you make soup in the morning?” he asked me.

  All the years of assisting Mamm as she prepared meals for the family were a gift to me now. She’d told me someday I’d need to know how to cook, meaning when I got married and raised a family. Now I felt foolish for not paying scrupulous attention. I’d have to thank her if I could pull off this charade.

  “Yah, I can make soup if I have the ingredients.”

  He frowned. “We have an odd problem in that area. No matter who places the food orders, we always seem to come up short. Inventorying will be part of your job. Our wholesale produce and meat man has a phone.”

  “Okay. I can even bake bread if required.”

  “No need. The bread’s delivered. You’ll need to inventory and put together an order to be brought in the next day.” He extended his arm. “Want to come in the kitchen and have a look?” He directed me around a corner to the area behind the register and glass case.

  A lidded metal vat sat on a burner. “Taste the soup, will you?” he said.

  I slid my hand into a pot holder, lifted the lid, and found a clean tablespoon. I brought a spoonful of the whitish liquid to my lips and swallowed the blandest soup I’d ever tasted.

  I turned to the girls. “Who made this?” Sadie raised a timid hand.

  I tried to sound knowledgeable as I recalled Mamm’s delicious potato soup. “Just my opinion, but it needs salt and seasoning. And next time, maybe start with chicken stock and add chopped onion and fried bacon or diced ham.”

  Stephen sampled a mouthful. “This is blah. Can you doctor it up right now, Eva?”

  I surveyed the spice rack and found basil, but not much else. “At this late stage, salt and pepper might be the best I can do, unless one of you girls will chop and sauté onion and celery and dice a little bit of ham.”

  But at this moment there wasn’t time to do much but add the salt and pepper.

  “Why, look at this darling place,” came a female’s brassy-toned voice with a Southern accent. “Cute as can be. And I’m starving.”

  I left the kitchen and saw half a dozen more Englisch women strolling in.

  “Put in your orders up here,” Stephen said, having followed me. He handed Sadie a pad of paper. “Ready to dive in, Eva?”

  “But I
haven’t unpacked.”

  He shot me a dubious look. “Plenty of time for that later.” He poured a mug of coffee and positioned himself at a nearby table.

  “Y’all go ahead and order. I’ll save us a table.” One woman, pleasantly wide at the girth, draped a paisley jacket over a chair by the pond. “Look, everyone, they have koi.” But the other women had flocked to the front counter and were staring into the glass case.

  “Separate checks?” Sadie asked.

  “Yes, if it’s not too much trouble.” The woman pointed to coleslaw, pasta salad, and broccoli salad. “I’ll take the three-salad plate and a blueberry muffin with butter.”

  “And to drink?”

  “Coffee.” She brought out her wallet. “No, make that hot tea.”

  After the woman paid, Sadie handed her an empty mug and produced a basket of tea bags. “Please choose a tea bag and then serve yourself hot water. And get a napkin and flatware.” She pointed out the table housing the hot water carafe. “We’ll get your order right out to you.”

  “I’ll follow you,” Jennifer said to the woman.

  I stood off to the side, watching Jennifer spoon mounds of salad onto a plate and then select a muffin and a pat of butter to put on a smaller plate while Sadie took the next order.

  “How’s your soup?” another woman asked me.

  “Want to give it a taste?” I asked.

  “Nah, that’s okay. I’ll take a bowl, and a ham and Swiss on rye, heavy on the mayonnaise and mustard. And iced tea.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” With Sadie’s assistance, I rang up her order and processed her charge card.

  Within minutes all the orders were in. Sadie and I assembled sandwiches while Jennifer served salads and muffins and ladled soup.

  Jennifer grinned at me. “Sure is nice having ya here.”

  “Denki.” I sighed at the prospect of spending the rest of the afternoon inside serving and preparing food.

  Stephen got to his feet and moved toward me. “You’re doing great, Eva.”

  “Thanks.” I’d executed every task with ease. I’d even sprinkled grated Parmesan cheese over the soup to liven it up.

  Ten minutes later, I watched Jennifer take desserts to the tables.

  “Tomorrow is Jennifer’s last day,” Stephen said.

  I couldn’t disguise my look of surprise.

  “Don’t think you and Sadie can handle it?”

  “Maybe if someone came in to bus tables and wash dishes.” I glanced into the kitchen at a dishwasher and a wide metal sink stacked with soiled plates and coffee mugs.

  “Ach,” Sadie said. “We let things get behind.” She got busy emptying the dishwasher.

  “Can you work for a few more days?” Stephen asked Jennifer as she strode by with some cleared dishes.

  “Nee, I’m sorry. Just tomorrow.”

  “I’ll have to hire someone,” he told me. Stephen caught me staring at the clock on the wall. Already two o’clock, and I hadn’t unpacked. Or had lunch. But I wasn’t hungry.

  “We serve food only until three this time of year,” he told me. “We leave the place open, cover the cases, and let our customers serve their own tea and coffee on the honor system. Since you’re here right now, will you stick around should another group show up? You’re doing great. Better than great.”

  “Denki.” So I’d nailed the job. Not the job of my dreams, but an occupation many women would adore. Maybe a single man my age would saunter into the café tomorrow and ask me out. Too bad Stephen was Mennonite…

  “Sure.” I shot him a grin. “It’s not as if I have anywhere to go other than touring the nursery.” Which I would love to do.

  “I bet we can find someone to help clear and wash dishes.” Stephen pivoted toward the door.

  “Luke?” Sadie said. “My little bruder’s looking for a job after school.”

  Stephen turned back to her. “He’s already committed to helping us plant seedlings. I’ll think of someone—”

  Sadie hurried over to Stephen and spoke sotto voce. “Please, not the housekeeper. She was hinting that she wants to work here until the Yoders return.”

  “What’s wrong with her?” Stephen said. “I’ve known Beatrice Valenti for a long time. She’s a good friend of Glenn’s, and she’s a widow.”

  “She’s grumpy. And she’s so old.” Sadie covered her mouth. She appeared to have plenty more complaints on her mind, but she must have known it was sinful to malign others.

  Sadie sent me a furtive glance. I wondered exactly how old this widow was. She had apparently read my mind. “She’s at least your mamm’s age, Eva. She grew up around here, and she’s of Italian descent. But she can speak some Deitsch, so beware of what you say.”

  “I remember her from the fabric shop where I worked,” I said. When Beatrice browsed there, she’d looked right through me and chosen to work with another saleswoman. But I still would have gone to her husband’s funeral if I hadn’t been sick.

  “And she’s related to Rose Yoder’s aunt,” Stephen said. “My boss has been wanting to help Beatrice out since her husband died several years ago. She lives in the big house and looks after their baby girl. While they’re out of town, she’s house-sitting and taking care of the dogs.”

  “The Yoders have hunds?” The backs of my knees weakened.

  “Yes, three of them.”

  Since childhood, I’d been afraid of dogs. When I was five, our neighbor’s German shepherd bit my leg and sent me to the emergency room for stitches. I hadn’t been able to shake the bone-deep fear—the feeling of pain and helplessness. Dat and Mamm had never owned a dog. Only a bushel of barn cats my brother and I had loved to cuddle as children.

  Stephen must have recognized trepidation in my demeanor. “They’re all friendly.”

  If I’d known dogs were running around the nursery, I wouldn’t have accepted the job. But I dared not voice my concerns.

  FOUR

  Near three o’clock, a young Amish man strolled into the café. Removing his hat, he zoomed in on me. “Are you Eva?”

  “Yah.” I recognized him as the guy with the goofy grin. Although he seemed at ease.

  “I’m Mark.” He extended his hand to shake mine. “Stephen asked me to give you a quick tour of the nursery before it gets dark.” His face was thin, and his features were refined in a way many women would appreciate.

  He glanced around at the empty tables. “Sadie and Jennifer know how to close up by themselves.” They nodded and grinned at him, making me think they both found him good looking. Which I guess he was, what with those smoky-green eyes. But he must be five years my junior, and I felt no zing of attraction.

  I did want to see the nursery, but I hesitated when I noticed two large, brown Labrador retrievers had accompanied him and waited by the front door of the café.

  This was a day I would overcome a multitude of my fears, I told myself as I followed Mark. The dogs wagged their tails. But then one barked, startling me and sending spikes of adrenaline down my arms and legs.

  “That’s Missy, Heath’s muder. Heath’s large but still a pup inside.” Mark must have noticed my reticence just as Stephen had. “They belong to the owner, and they’re both very friendly. They even sleep in his house at night.”

  I put out one hand, and Missy licked my fingertips. I dried my hand on her silky coat and then pet her son, Heath, a boisterous canine who seemed to want to jump on me.

  “Nee, no jumpin’.” Mark kneed him away, saving my dress and apron from muddy paws. “He still needs a bit of training.” Mark turned to me. “The customers don’t appreciate it either.”

  I shadowed him onto a flagstone path anchored by moss and lined with decorative containers displaying original and attractive combinations of flowers. We strolled under a trellis cloaked with coral-colored climbing rosebuds intertwined with wine-colored clematis. More than ever I wanted to work out here in the nursery. The combination of aromas—newly watered plants, mulch, and fertilized soil—was intoxicati
ng under the setting sun. Not that I’d ever been drunk. Heavens no. One time I took a sip from Jake’s bottle of beer. I found the drink offensive and knew my parents and their bishop would disapprove even if I was in rumspringa and not yet baptized.

  As I trailed Mark into the retail shop, I watched half a dozen chickadees and flashy scarlet cardinals descend on a feeder hanging from a nearby pole. They were having a dandy time, tittering and chirping and picking out the sunflower seeds. I smiled and lifted my chin, attempting to appear confident when in fact the opposite was true.

  We entered the smallish building made of gray stone. One interior wall was bedecked with rakes, shovels, clippers, saws, and gloves. There was hardly a square inch of vacant space. The opposite wall displayed rubber boots, gloves, clogs, hoses, and watering cans. At the far end stood a collection of flowerpots: ceramic, metal, and cement crafted to look like stone. A rack displayed packets of seeds. It was all an orderly profusion I’d love to investigate.

  An Amish woman about twenty years my senior stood at the register ringing up bags of daffodil bulbs for a customer.

  “Denki,” the salesclerk said.

  “Gem gschehne, Bess,” said the young woman, and then she departed.

  The round-faced saleswoman was adjusting her white heart-shaped head covering when she noticed Mark and me.

  “Bess, I’d like you to meet our new café manager, Eva Lapp.”

  The title still struck me as ludicrous, but I shaped my lips into a smile.

  Bess smoothed the front of her black apron and then extended her small hand to shake mine. “Glad to meet ya, Eva. I hope you’ll be happy here.”

  “I’m sure I will be.”

  A catalog lay on the counter with a photo of the owner’s house gracing the cover. Clumps of daisies crowded the foreground, a hammock hung beneath the maple tree, and a black cat posed on the railing of the wide front porch. Behind the home, I knew, crouched my new abode.

  Stephen sauntered into the shop and handed me a ring of keys. “I nearly forgot to give you these. One is for the café—both the front and back doors—and the other is for the cabin.”