The Amish Bride (38 page)

“Is it that obvious?”

“
Ya
, as a matter-of-fact it is.”

I bit my lower lip and shook my head. “It’s nothing.” I wasn’t about to set myself up for any more advice from him.

We worked in silence, him running up and down between the loft and the wagon, while I made sure the conveyor belt stayed in position. Once all the bales were in the loft, Luke said he would stack them later after he did the milking back home. His
daed
and Tom had gone into town.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.

I waved and headed toward the house, but then I turned and watched him walking toward the pasture. He’d been a good friend to me in his quiet way. I knew he had problems of his own, but his faith seemed to keep him in balance. I had never seen him in a dither or disrespectful with anyone.

As it turned out, I didn’t see him the next day. It was the first time since I’d been at Rosalee’s that he hadn’t been at the Home Place for at least an hour or two.

“I told him to take the day off,” Rosalee said. “He needs a break from us, don’t you think?”

I nodded, but I knew she meant from
me
. She and Luke got along fabulously.

On the way to class that afternoon, Penny prattled away about the lemon-cherry pudding cake she had made the night before. I half listened and half thought about Freddy Bayer. Then my mind fell to Ezra. I hadn’t had a letter from him, not even a paragraph, in several weeks.

A wave of relief washed over me as we arrived in South Bend. Cake making would take my mind off everything else. I knew it was prideful to think, but the truth was I was acing
l’art du gateau
. It was the last class before our final next week, and there was nothing Pierre could say to me that could make me think otherwise. He hardly ever had a negative comment to make concerning my work, except that it was too elaborate.

My cakes were delicious and moist. My fondant rolled out as if I’d been doing it my entire life. My frostings were tasty and manageable. Lesson after lesson, I led the class. Everything was going well except for my marzipan birds. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t get them to look like Sarah’s drawings. But that was a minor failure in the overall scope of the class. I’d redeemed myself. Even Pierre was impressed.

Our final was to bake and decorate a cake that was due the next week. I came up with a three-tiered white chocolate raspberry wedding cake topped with fondant. My plan was to use Rosalee’s berries for the filling and then decorate the whole thing with marzipan birds inspired from Sarah’s book, but simpler. I finally decided that the key was inspiration, not replication. I wanted to capture the essence of her art, not recreate it. All of the work had to be done at the school because I had no way of transporting a cake. Penny was making her cake at the school too, and Pierre said we could work Friday afternoon, late into the evening if we needed to.

Toward the end of class on Thursday, Pierre called me into his office. My heart raced, sure he’d turned back into the dictator he’d been and was going to come up with some reason to humiliate me—except he usually did that in front of all the others.

“Mademoiselle Ella,” he said, sitting on the edge of his desk. “You have come so far,
oui
?”

I stayed silent.

“I have a proposition for you,” he said. “If—and it is a big if—you can pull off this cake, and if it turns out the way you have described it to be, drawn it to be…Anyway, I would like…” He blinked rapidly. “Let me start over.”

He took a deep breath. “I’m thinking about expanding.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“I would like to add a wedding cake line. That has been missing from my bakery. Americans love their wedding cakes, and once a bride buys a cake she will come back for everything—bread, pastries, birthday cakes for the kids. Then wedding cakes for her daughters. See what I mean?”

I nodded. I understood customer loyalty. Especially when it came to a good experience on a woman’s wedding day.

“So, I am thinking, if you are successful with your cake, I would like to hire you to work for me.”

My hand went to my chest. “Me?”

“
Oui
,” he said. “I know it is a surprise.”

“But I was your worst student—”

“Yes, was,” he said. “Although you will do better if you still believe that.”

“What do you mean?”

“You did not take me seriously, did you? All that ribbing?”

“Actually, I did.”

He smiled sarcastically. “I only treated you that way because I knew you were gifted.”

“I beg your pardon?” He’d made my life miserable for almost three months. And for what?

“It is just my way,” he declared. “So will you consider working for me?”

“Why would I want to?”

He sat up straight. “Because I am the best around, and you will have the chance to keep learning—but you will be paid to do it. I do not have the patience for cakes anymore—but you? You enjoy it.”

“When do you need to know?”

He chuckled. “When I offer the position to you, depending on how your final goes.”

My face grew warm. He’d already said that.

I thought about Pierre’s possible offer as Penny drove home. There was no way I could work for Pierre. On the other hand, I’d be crazy not to.

P
ierre’s offer was tempting, but I longed to be with Ezra. The next morning, I tried to call Mom’s cell from the phone in Plain Treats, but she didn’t answer so I called Zed.

“Ella!” He sounded so happy to hear from me.

“Is Mom around?”

“No. She’s out on a call. You know how it goes.” He sounded so grown up. “Want me to give her a message?”

“I want to talk with her about coming home.”

“Well, yeah. About that. You’re probably going to have to stay at
Mammi
’s.”

“Stay at
Mammi
’s? I don’t mean just for a visit. I’m coming for good.” Or at least until I got married.

“For good?”

“Zed.” My voice twanged with frustration. “What’s going on?”

His voice quieted. “I moved into your room.”

“Why?”

“Dad’s staying in mine.”

My knees practically buckled. Reaching out for the counter, I steadied myself before I spoke. “Dad?”

“Mom moved him in a couple of weeks ago. The chemo has been so hard on him that he needs to be taken care of.”

“I don’t have a room anymore…”

“There’s the alcove.”

Lexie slept on a bed in the alcove for the two months she stayed with us. Why she’d been willing to do that, I still couldn’t understand.

“Although sometimes Izzy stays over. Then Mom sleeps in the alcove and Izzy uses her room.”

“Why is Izzy staying over? I thought she was helping Ada.”

“She’s been helping with Dad some too,” he said. “When Mom has an appointment and I have school.”

“Freddy needs to leave.”

“Ella…”

“What?”

“Mom’s not going to do that. He’s, uh, he’s in hospice care.”

Hospice. That meant he was dying. Pushing that thought from my mind, I responded, my voice growing shrill. “But I want to come home!”

“Did you understand what I said? He’s dying,” Zed whispered.

I swallowed hard, refusing to care. “So how come you’re not at school right now?”

“I’m going in late. I’ll leave once Izzy gets here.”

I wound my index finger through the cord of the phone. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

“I thought Mom had. Come home and stay with
Mammi
,” Zed suggested. “I’ll come out and see you.”

“I have to go.”

“I’ll tell Mom you called.”

“Don’t bother,” I answered, tears stinging my eyes.

“Ella—”

“Bye.” I hung up without telling him I loved him, without even waiting for his farewell.

Maybe I could go home to visit, make sure things were okay with Ezra, and then come back and work for Pierre for a couple of months. Then I could return to Lancaster County for good.

Neither Millie, Luke, nor Eddie was around all morning, or for dinner, either. Rosalee and I didn’t talk much. It was hot and humid and I looked forward to riding in Penny’s air-conditioned car to South Bend. Even though Pierre’s kitchen was hot, the place had air and was still cooler than Plain Treats or the Home Place.

After we were done eating, I waited for Penny in the shade of the tulip tree. She was late. Finally I sat down, crossing my legs under my dress, my book bag in my lap.

I heard a rustling behind me. It was Luke.

“Are you sneaking up on me?”

He held something wrapped in an old brown paper bag in his hand.

“Kind of,” he said. “I know you’re leaving soon—”

“Not until next week.” I didn’t add “Maybe.”

“Oh.” He stopped a foot from me. “Well, do you have a minute now?”

I glanced toward the driveway. “Until Penny gets here.”

He nodded. “Okay. I should have gifen this to you three months ago, when you were asking if I’d seen any artwork around here.”

I gasped in anticipation.

He knelt down beside me. “I found this in our house years ago, where Eddie found the game. I was just older than Eddie is now. I shared that room with Tom. We hadn’t lived here long and I was exploring.” He opened the bag as he talked. “I’ve hidden it from
Daed
all these years. It wasn’t until he burned Eddie’s half of the game that I realized you were looking for this. Then it took a while for me to be willing to part with it.” He pulled a foot-by-foot canvas mounted on a square frame from the bag and then turned it over and handed it to me.

It was a painting of a baby, but not the baby in the game. The eyes were different and this one’s face wasn’t as full as the other one. And while I couldn’t tell if the baby in the game was a boy or a girl, for some reason, this one looked like a boy. Was this a painting of
Mammi
’s brother Gerry, Rosalee’s father? I hesitated for a moment, wondering if I should chance showing it to Rosalee. I didn’t think she would be offended by it, but it was hard to know for sure. The baby had dark curly hair and was smiling.

“He’s beautiful,” I whispered.

“I’ve always thought so too,” Luke said. “Not as beautiful as a real baby is—but pretty close.”

The background of the painting was green and texturized, like the woods, and a small bird was in the bottom right-hand corner.

“You think your great-grandmother painted it,
ya
?”

“Probably,” I answered. “Though I don’t know why it was over at the dairy. Which room was it in? I want to tell my mom about it.”

He explained that the bedroom was at the top of the stairs, looking out on the backyard. It was a small room with a slanted roof, just big enough for a child or two.

A wave of appreciation for Luke swept over me. He had treasured the painting all these years. And he had kept it safe. Now, he hadn’t given it to me impulsively, but had thought through his decision, long and hard, first.

“Thank you,” I said, as the sound of tires rolled over the gravel. A quick glance and I knew Penny was arriving. “Thank you so much.”

“I should have taken the game too,” he said. “I didn’t think it would be in danger.” He sighed. “You know, not very many people in our district would have destroyed the game—or a painting like this either. Lots of the kids I know draw.” He had a look of regret on his face.

“I’m just glad you saved the painting. This is absolutely amazing.” I stared into the eyes of the baby. I didn’t recognize them. I was certain they weren’t replicated in Sarah’s book. I stood, looking from Penny’s SUV to Luke.

“Would you tell her I’ll be right back? I need to run this to my room.”

Luke started toward the driveway while I ran to the house, putting the painting in the drawer with the book, and I then hurried back out.

“Thanks again,” I said to him as he handed me my bag.