A Simple Winter: A Seasons of Lancaster Novel (14 page)

“Hello.” The teenage girl appeared beside the quilt, her smile revealing dimples and clear amber eyes. “Can we help you find something? You look a little lost.”

Remy started to open her mouth, but hesitated when she lost her balance and swayed to one side. What a time to start feeling sick. “I’m actually looking for someone … a friend.” Steadying herself against the table, Remy got a closer view of the quilt, with its stitches forming small flowers and star patterns. So lovely. “His name is Adam King.”

“That’s my brother.” The young woman cocked her head, her
eyes curious. “But he doesn’t have Englisher friends. At least, not anymore.”

“We met last year.…” Like a fizzling television screen, Remy’s vision began to blur. “Wow. I’m sorry.” She steadied herself against their table.

“You okay?” the teenage girl asked.

“Just a little dizzy,” Remy managed to say as the buzz of noise closed around her. “Sometimes I get these seizures, but … I don’t think this is one of them.”

“Kumm. Let her sit,” barked an older woman’s voice.

With her hands pressed to her temples, Remy wasn’t quite sure how it all transpired, but a moment later she sat in a folding chair, shielded from the crowd by the lovely hanging quilt. One of the girls was handing her a paper cup of water, while the smallest one patted her shoulder.

“I think you’ll be okay,” she said, her lips pursed in an expression of concern.

“Thank you. I … I didn’t eat breakfast and …” When was the last time she’d gotten a good night’s sleep? Or a decent meal? Remy pinched the bridge of her nose. It was her own fault. She was responsible for taking care of herself.

“She needs something to eat.”

“I think she’s sick. Adam’s friend is sick.” The youngest one put her face close to Remy’s. “Do you want some cheese?” she asked, her eyes alight with concern.

Remy knew she needed something. “That sounds good.”

“Get the samples.” The oldest girl waved someone over to her, and a paper plate stacked with cheddar cubes loomed before Remy’s face. “Give her some space, Ruthie,” the teenaged girl said.

Even in her daze, Remy heard the name Ruthie. Adam’s little sister. At least she’d landed in the right place, but where was Adam?

Remy stabbed some cheese with a toothpick and popped it in her mouth. “Delicious,” she said. It was smooth and buttery-tasting.

“It’s made with milk from our cows, but they turn it into cheese at Uncle Nate’s farm,” said one of the twins.

Ruthie was back in her face. “What’s your name?”

“Remy. Remy McCallister.”

Ruth squinted. “I don’t know that name.”

“Well, my real name is Rebecca.…”

“Oh, we know lots of Rebeccas,” one of the girls said.

“But my parents called me Remy,” she explained, head in her hands. “After a place in France. A place that’s famous for its cognac.”

Ruthie nodded, then asked, “What’s a cone yak?”

The girl at the end of the table put her book down to explain. “A yak is a bovine animal found in the Himalayan Mountains of Asia.”

Hiding a smile, Remy focused on breathing as their conversation washed over her. At the end of the table, the older woman seemed to be in charge of taking orders, while the other girls spoke in Pennsylvania Dutch, their words a soothing background for Remy to relax.

“How are you feeling?” Ruthie asked, patting Remy’s shoulder.

“Ruthie, leave the poor girl alone.” Referring a customer to the old woman, the teenaged girl hurried over. “Don’t feel rushed. Can we get you something else?”

“I’m feeling much better.” Remy sighed and pulled herself up straight in the chair. “That was a little scary, but it’s passed. I’m thinking I should get some lunch before I eat all your samples up.”

“But we don’t mind,” one of the twins said. “The cows just make more milk. Twice a day, every day!”

Remy smiled. “I appreciate your help. You didn’t tell me your names.”

“I’m Sadie,” the oldest girl volunteered. “That bookworm down at the end is Leah, and over there is her twin, Susie. Ruthie’s the one in your face. And that’s our grandmother, Nell King, down at the end. That’s probably more names than you ever want to know.”

“I’ll be sure to remember the names of the girls who saved my skin,” Remy said, darting a glance at the stuffed deer that had started the whole episode. “I’m really grateful. Thank you.” She smiled, glad for their help. “But I was hoping to speak with Adam. Is he here?”

“He’s around here somewhere,” Ruthie said.

“I can help you find him,” Sadie volunteered. “And didn’t you want to get some food?”

“Right.” Food first, then Adam.

As Remy and Sadie strolled through the market, Sadie seemed relieved to have time away from the other girls, and she talked nonstop about shoes, music, and her rumspringa, which had given her time to explore shoes and music. Sadie had a job at a local motel and a boyfriend. “An Englisher,” Sadie announced proudly. “He loves my long hair. Frank thinks I’m beautiful. He helped me get a little cell phone that I charge when I’m at work. And an iPod. Do you have one? It means I can have music in my ear, whenever I’m alone.”

So many personal details in a short burst of time. “Sounds like Frank is a nice guy.” Remy sensed that Sadie craved attention outside the Amish community. “Has your family met him?” Remy asked.

“Oh, no! They don’t want to know about Frank. I’m supposed to be dating Amish boys, looking for a suitable husband, but that’s all so boring.”

When Remy was seventeen, most of the things her father wanted her to do were equally “boring.” She supposed it was a rite of passage.

As Sadie rambled on, an open book, Remy considered asking her for an interview. The girl would probably say yes. But then would she think Remy was just being nice to get her story? That would be awful. Already Remy could tell that the teenaged girl looked up to her, and Remy didn’t want to do anything that would violate her trust.

Discouraged by the long line for sandwiches, Remy perked up when she spotted a sign for Nancy’s Nutty Muesli Bars. “I can’t believe they have Nancy’s bars here. Have you ever had them?”

“Sure. Nancy Briggs is the mayor of Halfway, and she always gives out samples. She says word of mouth makes the best advertising.”

Now that Sadie mentioned it, Remy remembered Adam saying that he knew Nancy.… The topic came up when she gave him a muesli bar. If she were a better reporter, she would have remembered a detail like that. From now on, she was going to collect notes in her journal at the end of each day.

Over at Nancy’s stand they helped themselves to samples of a peanut bar and a new one made from almonds and dates. Remy filled a box with a dozen assorted bars, then joined Sadie, who was holding a place in line.

“That’s Nancy.” Sadie nodded to the petite woman who was working the cash box. Nancy Briggs’s salt-and-pepper hair was styled to swirl around her face, yet she wore the clothes of a hiker: black boots, brown pants with plenty of pockets, a flannel shirt, and a down vest. Except for her coiffed hair, she looked as if she could have hiked the Adirondacks that morning.

“What can I do for you today?” Nancy squinted. “Sadie King? I haven’t seen Simon in the shop since the weather turned nasty. How’s he doing?”

“Better. Denki for asking.”

Wide-eyed, Remy waited to see if any more information about
Simon was forthcoming, but the conversation seemed to be over. “I’d like to buy these, please.” She handed over the box. “And I just wanted to tell you how many times Nancy’s Nutty Bars have saved my life.”

“A satisfied customer!” Nancy clapped her hands together. “That’s what I like to hear.”

“I’ve eaten them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner,” she told the older woman.

“Well, that’s a little excessive. Wholesome and delicious is one thing, but you need to vary your diet.” Nancy’s eyes twinkled as she looked Remy over. “Especially a twig of a thing like you.”

With her twinkling eyes and direct manner, Nancy Briggs was very likable. Remy wondered what it was like to be the mayor of a town where the majority of the residents were Amish, and therefore not involved in politics. And would the mayor give her a statement regarding last year’s murders and the impact on the town? Remy thought it was worth pursuing later, in a more private setting.

For now, she needed to find Adam.

dam was talking with Ben Lapp, the two of them catching a breath of fresh air in the wide doorway, away from the smells of popcorn and buttered pretzels, when he saw the van move through the parking lot. Streaked with bright blue and green stripes and emblazoned with the giant letters WPHL, the van obviously belonged to a news station.

He rubbed his chin, hoping that he was wrong. Just because journalists were calling the sheriff about his family didn’t mean that the Kings were the only people of interest in the town of Halfway. Turning back to Ben, he motioned the older man away from the door and got back to the conversation.

“You can tell Nell and Mary we’ll be needing two double-sized quilts come the spring,” Ben Lapp was saying. Since Ben and Debbie Lapp had opened the Halfway Inn five years ago, they had ordered all their quilts from Mamm, and Adam had been grateful when Ben called him over to let him know he’d be wanting more.

“I’ll tell my grandmother. The girls will want to start right
away, since there’s more time to quilt during winter months.” As he spoke, Adam led Ben farther from the door. “Is there a pattern or color you want?”

“Debbie would be the one to speak with on design. I steer clear of choices like that, especially with the inn. She likes things just so for the customers.”

“A wise man, you are,” Adam said.

“Debbie will speak with Nell to work out the details.”

“Very good.” When Adam turned back to nod at the man, he saw them.

A camera crew.

Adam froze at the sight of them: a man in blue jeans and a puffy vest with a fat camera balanced on his shoulder, and a second man in a bright blue sweater, with tanned skin and eyes that seemed to be circled in dark crayon.

They were being escorted by Chris Mueller, an Englisher neighbor who worked security for Halfway’s farmers markets. Chris was responsible for keeping order and peace, but he didn’t have the authority to turn these guys away. Too bad.

“
Was ist los?
What’s wrong?” The lines at the outer edges of Ben’s eyes deepened. “You look like you just saw the devil himself.”

“A camera crew just walked in. Television reporters. I hope I’m wrong, but they might be wanting to ask me about all the troubles we’ve tried to put behind us since … since last year.”

Casting a look over his shoulder, Ben scowled.
“Aussenseiter.”
Although the literal meaning was “outsiders,” the single word alluded to the fact that these men came from another world, a culture with rules and ethics alien to the Amish community.

In that moment Adam knew he was home again. Although in the past year he’d sometimes felt that people in the Amish community perceived him as a man sitting on the fence, one foot in
this world and one planted among the Englishers, the balance had shifted. He was back among the Plain folk.

“There he is …” Chris Mueller’s voice crept their way. “Adam, do you have a minute?” Chris paused, one hand on the nightstick looped through his belt, the other pressed to the silver star-shaped badge that signified he was a security guard. Rent-a-Cop, his friend Jane used to call them. Security people who wore the uniform of a police officer.

“Actually, I’ve got some things to take care of.” Adam looked from Chris to the two men, suddenly feeling like a deer caught in headlights.

“Adam King?” The man in the bright blue sweater and golden tan makeup extended his hand. “I’m Steel Winfield, WPHL news in Philadelphia. How’s it going?”

His jaw tense, Adam shook the man’s hand, but he didn’t speak. Let them read from his silence; he didn’t want to talk with them.

“This is my cameraman, Chuck Trotti, and we were wondering if you’d take a moment to talk with us about how your family is doing?”

“Not interested.”

“Mr. King.” Winfield’s voice was smooth as sanded wood. Pearly white teeth and unusual blue eyes completed the package. “We understand your reticence, the pain you’ve had to endure this last year. We don’t have to put you on camera, and we wouldn’t have to show anyone in your family. We don’t mean to be invasive, but people are inquisitive. They want to know how your family is doing.”

“The family wants to be left alone,” growled Ben Lapp. “Go away.” With his black hat pulled down to his beady eyes and his beard a mass of dark fur beneath his chin, Ben looked every inch the grumpy old man.

Whom Adam was happy to have in his corner.

Steel Winfield focused on Adam, as if they were the only two people in the room. “The thing is, people are curious. They care about you. They want to know how little Simon is faring.”

With his personable demeanor, Adam could see how this man won the confidence of his subjects. However, the Kings would not cooperate. “I have nothing to say,” Adam said. “And I would appreciate you leaving my family alone.” Adam walked away, but the reporter fell into step beside him.