The Scent of Cherry Blossoms: A Romance from the Heart of Amish Country (6 page)

“Roman’s at his uncle’s, trying to get a generator running.” She explained about the diner needing to feed Mattie’s and Gideon’s families for various meals throughout the week. “The restaurant will be the busiest they’ve been in years.”

“And Roman’s gone.”

“Exactly.”

He rubbed his hand across his freshly shaven face, a habit when he was thinking deeply. Hoping he’d let this go, she got a glass out of the cabinet, went to the refrigerator, and poured some orange juice.

Daadi picked up his folded newspaper and tapped it on the table. “It’s not proper for you to be in a rig with an Amish boy, especially that late at night. It’ll look like you two are seeing each other.”

“I didn’t think about that.” She took a sip of her drink. “But nobody saw us. The roads were deserted. I certainly don’t want to cause any trouble for the Zooks.”

“Or yourself.”

“I’m not worried about that.”

“You should be. Our people won’t like it one iota better than his.”

Some aspects of their religion made little sense to her, but she knew why she and Aden couldn’t be seen together. Old Order Mennonite and Old Order Amish were good neighbors, helpful, kind, and generous, but the boundaries concerning interrelationships were wide and high and made of steel.

Unacceptable.

Inappropriate.

Forbidden.

So much so that a single woman from one group could never be alone with a single man from the other.

She didn’t take this boundary as seriously as Daadi Moses and others like him did, because she believed it was based on prejudices between the two groups. Her relatives often used terms like
backwoods
to describe the Amish, while the Amish used words like
worldly
to describe the Mennonites.

But her grandfather was good to the Zooks, and they were good to him. The relationship—both business and personal—worked for both families.

She saw no reason to point out her grandfather’s undercurrent of prejudice. He would argue that his convictions were founded on Scripture, and he’d have chapter and verse to back him up. If she argued with him, he might send her back to her mother … if Mamm would have her.

Besides, she’d never known anyone who wanted to cross that line and probably never would. She couldn’t imagine giving up the modern-day comforts of her Mennonite community, which allowed electricity
and phones in the home. She even considered a church building to be a true modern convenience, unlike the Old Order Amish, who had to move furniture out of a house in order to set up the church benches and who prepared a meal afterward, however simple, for hundreds of people. And the thought of living all summer without an air conditioner or a fan in the house was enough to keep anyone from crossing that boundary.

And Old Order Amish people who’d officially joined the faith, like Aden and Roman had, could never get their minds around the idea of leaving their Old Ways and destroying all ties to their family and community in order to have something as frivolous as electricity and a phone in their home.

Daadi Moses wagged his finger at her. “You take care, Annie. Our people will think you’re up to no good if they see you out with a Zook, and his will think the same thing.”

Annie cringed at her grandfather’s tone of disrespect toward the Zooks, but she understood the source of it. The Amish weren’t as moral in their dating practices as the Mennonites. Her people didn’t believe in having a
rumschpringe
, the period of increased freedom for teens and young adults to find a spouse. Mennonites viewed those relaxed rules for the Amish young people to lead toward potential impurity. And Mennonites didn’t wait until they were preparing for marriage to join their church. In fact, Mennonites had to be members of the church before they could go on a first date, and they couldn’t date anyone but a fellow Mennonite. Annie liked the idea of dating only those who’d already made a commitment to God.

She enfolded his hand with hers, encouraging him to stop pointing a finger at her. “The Zooks are good people who need a helping hand. If you weren’t in the middle of preparing for new chickens to arrive, you’d be helping them out with me, just like we used to do.”

She wanted to tell him that she thought no more of working beside one of the Zook boys now than she did as a child, but that didn’t feel completely honest. There was something different about her feelings for Aden. She wasn’t interested in him as a beau. But she longed to know him better … and to help him in more ways than just serving meals at the diner.

Daadi Moses got up and brought the orange juice to the table, a peace offering of sorts. “A girl can’t afford to have her reputation tarnished. If one of Aden’s parents couldn’t bring you home, you should’ve called me so I could pick you up.”

“It was midnight before we finished everything that needed to be done. Ellen couldn’t stay that late.” She poured more juice. “And you were asleep by then.”

Anger flashed through his eyes. “You and Aden were alone?”

Annie rolled her eyes. “Oh, please, Daadi. You’re starting to sound like Mamm.”

Confusion erased all sternness in his expression. “What do you mean?”

“She thinks every single man is a potential beau for me. It makes me sick. How many people have you wanted to live with for a lifetime?”

The tender side of him that she knew so well finally reflected in his eyes. “Only one. Your Mammi Esther.”

Annie smiled. “No one in the twenty-five years before her or the forty-five years after.” She pointed her finger at him, mimicking what he’d done to her earlier. “I’m no fool, Daadi. Don’t treat me like I am. Not you.”

Daadi eased his callused hand over hers. “What are you trying to talk me into?”

“I just want you to trust my judgment. Like you always have.”

He rubbed his forehead, not looking completely convinced of his decision. “Okay. You can continue helping at the diner.”

She hugged her grandpa, suddenly aware of the excitement pumping through her at the idea of spending a few days with Aden. She’d always managed to get beyond Daadi Moses’s surliness and into the part of his heart where tenderness lived. Seemed reasonable to think she could figure out how to get past Aden’s quietness and into the place where his thoughts flowed as freely as falling cherry blossom petals on a windy day.

R
oman pulled the timing chain off the top of the sprocket and wriggled the cam with the small pry bar, trying to remove it from the bottom of the sprocket. Most types of engines had long ago started using timing belts, but not this one. His hands and clothes were covered in black oil, and the air around him smelled of diesel fuel.

Outside the small generator room, his uncle and every worker he could hire were milking cows by hand. They all had their hopes hung on Roman’s being able to fix this ancient piece of machinery. So did he.

His uncle had set up a worktable near Roman and had placed all the tools on it so that no one had to stay with him to hand him the needed items. Being unable to get items out of a toolbox that sat on the floor or on a table of regular height made working by himself impossible. But this setup was helpful. Earlier the tools had been lined up neatly on the tabletop, but now they were in a pile at the corner, where he’d laid each one after using it.

The work of his hands, mixed with the smells and sounds around him, unleashed a sense of well-being. He’d forgotten what it meant to feel like himself. He used to enjoy who he was and what his body could do. But contentment had disappeared along with the use of his legs.

Today, however, he had moments of feeling normal again, a sensation of wholeness he hadn’t realized was missing. He didn’t understand all that was taking place inside him, but he knew it was happening because of the pleasure and satisfaction in taking apart a broken machine and putting it back together as a working unit.

He wished someone could put his body back together again. As useless as that thinking was, he couldn’t stop his mind from latching on to that hope every waking moment.

But right now a new hope was taking root, one with a smidgen of real possibility. Maybe when his sister Mary graduated from the eighth grade this spring and could then work during the day, he could get away from the restaurant long enough to take a part-time job as a generator mechanic. But he’d need Aden to travel with him so he could get around, and Aden needed him to be his mouthpiece.

They were both at a disadvantage this week, Aden more than him. Uncle Ernie’s oldest son was able to help Roman get in and out of his wheelchair some. Aden had no one who knew what he was trying to say as well as Roman did.

But if something could be worked out, there was no shortage of Amish farms with generators used for numerous things, from running an air compressor for milking cows to refrigerating the milk until
it could be picked up. Some Amish wives used generators to run their wringer washers. A few used them to heat the home or run their refrigerators. He felt confident there was enough work to keep him busy.

“Excuse me?” A female voice interrupted his thoughts, and he dropped the pry bar with a clang.

Roman turned the wheel of his chair to face the doorway.

A young Amish woman smiled at him. “Roman Zook?”

He picked up the cloth from his lap and wiped grime off his hands. “That’s me.”

She actually strutted toward him. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

He studied her face and let his eyes move down her body. She was cute and feisty. “I’m pretty sure I’d remember you if we’d ever met.”

Folding her arms, she narrowed her eyes. “Flirting already. Some things never change, do they?”

The way she ended her sentences with a question seemed familiar. “Marian Lee?”

“Ya.”

“Good grief you’ve changed. Except you’re still asking questions.”

“Am I?”

He laughed. “You’re right. Some things never change.”

She was a year or two younger than he was, and being a neighbor of his uncle’s, she used to come by with her parents when he was here. But he’d never been interested in her. The last time he saw her, he’d been sixteen, and she wasn’t of dating age. But he remembered her
folks fretting over her, saying she was as opinionated and strong willed as any man they’d ever met.

She pointed at the pry bar on the floor. He backed up his wheelchair, suddenly feeling like a clumsy toad.

She picked up the tool, then put space between them. “You stopped writing.”

“It was nice of you to send me letters after the accident.” And he’d answered a couple. It’d felt good to know someone cared, even somebody he barely knew. “But after the first few, I didn’t have anything else to say.”

“Ya, me either.” She pointed the pry bar at him. “You look good.”

He didn’t believe her. That was just what people said whenever someone had been ill or injured. “Compared to what?”

She raised an eyebrow, sending a shiver of exhilaration down his spine. Her eyes held a challenge, as if she’d go toe-to-toe without being intimidated by him.

A man came to the doorway, carrying a bowl with a cloth over it. “Marian, I wasn’t sure where you’d disappeared to.”

She glanced his way before turning back to Roman. A hint of dare flickered through her eyes. “I’m right here.”

Disappointment crashed in on him. The man had to be the boyfriend.

He entered the room. “Hi.” He set the bowl on the table near Roman. “Marian and I came by to say a friendly hello, and your aunt told us where you’d be. She had me wait until she fixed this snack for you.”

Marian held out the pry bar to Roman, keeping a firm grip on it even after he grasped it. “Like I said, you look good, and that’s compared to any man your age.”

Emotions skittered and sizzled like water poured on a hot engine.

“Marian.” The man sounded displeased.

She released the tool before gesturing toward the man. “You remember Andrew?”

Roman blinked. “Your little brother?”

Challenge and humor danced in her eyes. “Yep.”

Andrew shook his hand. “Good to see you again.”

“You too.”

Andrew had been a scrawny kid the last time Roman saw him. Andrew began straightening and lining up the tools on the table.

Roman laid the pry bar across his lap. “You knew exactly what I was thinking when he came into the room, didn’t you?”

She shrugged, a huge possum grin on her face. “I was hoping.”

“You have a cruel streak,” he teased. “I’m not sure I like that.”

“Then let me make it up to you.”

“No thanks.” Fear of this bold, interesting woman danced with the hope she stirred. What would she say if he invited her to attend a singing with him?

She brushed her fingers across her cheek, as if she’d felt a bug or something, and in the process unknowingly left grimy marks. “Afraid you won’t survive my effort to make up for my rudeness?”

“Very much so.”

“You’re smarter than I gave you credit for, aren’t you?”

“So I look good, but I also look stupid?”

She giggled, clearly enjoying their banter. “Maybe.”

He tried to size her up. She had more zing than any girl he’d ever met. Was she just horsing around, or was she seriously flirting with him?