The Search (2 page)

As the bus pulled out of the station and Bess waved goodbye to her father, it was her turn for blurry eyes. She had visited Stoney Ridge only one other time, for her grandfather’s funeral. That time, her father was with her. Now, it was just her. At the other end of the trip—Mammi. And no Daadi to soften her grandmother’s rough edges. Bess had adored her grandfather. He came to visit them in Ohio every other year—as often as he could. He was a tenderhearted man, as lean and lanky as Mammi was wide and round.

As Bess watched the phone lines swoop up and down to each pole along the road, she remembered what wouldn’t be there—no phone in the barn, like at home. No bicycles, only scooters. And no indoor plumbing. When she asked her father why her grandmother still used a privy despite knowing that their district allowed plumbing, he told her that his mother was a woman who held on tight to the old ways. “If it isn’t broke, why fix it?” was her life motto, he said.

Hours later, when the Greyhound bus pulled into Stoney Ridge, Bess climbed down the steps onto the sidewalk. The driver yanked her suitcase from the belly of the bus and thumped it down next to her. There Bess stood at the end of the world with all her worldly possessions. Her suitcase and Blackie, her cat.

Blackie had traveled in a picnic hamper and spent most of the trip trying to claw his way out. As Bess set down the hamper and looked around, a small knot of fear rose in her throat. She assumed her grandmother would be here waiting for her. What if she had forgotten Bess was coming? What if no one came to meet her? How would she ever find the farmhouse? Maybe her grandmother had gotten even sicker since her female surgery. Maybe Bess had come too late and Mammi had up and died. Bess had to shield her eyes from the late afternoon sun, beating down on her. She was tired from the long, hot ride and briefly thought about getting back on the stuffy bus to head home. Home to her father, Ohio, and all that was familiar.

Bess sat down on top of her suitcase. These were the moments in life when she wondered if her mother was up there in heaven looking down at her now and maybe trying to figure out how to help her. She loved imagining what her mother was like, what she’d say or do. She never tired of hearing stories about her from her father. She hoped that she might be able to find out even more from her grandmother this summer. That is, assuming she could ever locate Mammi. She shaded her eyes to look as far down the street as she could.

Bess let out a sigh of relief when she saw a horse and a gray-topped buggy veering around the corner. The buggy tipped so far to the right, Bess worried it might topple right over. The horse stopped abruptly right next to Bess, and the buggy tipped even more sharply as her grandmother disembarked. Land sakes, but she was enormous. Bess hadn’t seen Mammi in three years, and she was even bigger. Taller still with her large black bonnet. She had several chins with wattles like a turkey. She drew nearer to Bess till she blotted out the sun.

“Where’s your father?” Mammi asked, looking up and down the platform.

“He didn’t come,” Bess said. “I’m old enough to travel alone.”

For a long moment, Mammi stared at her. Then something passed through those dark brown eyes, something Bess couldn’t quite make out. Irritation? Or disappointment, maybe? Whatever it was, she shook it off in a flash.

“Old enough, are you?” Mammi hooked her hands on her hips and looked Bess up and down. “You look like you need a dose of salts and a square meal.” The picnic hamper in Bess’s hand quivered and Mammi noticed. She pointed to it. “What’s that?”

“Blackie,” Bess said. “My cat.”

“Hoo-boy,” Mammi said. “Better be a good mouser.”

With a powerful arm, she swung Bess’s suitcase aboard the buggy, lifting it high as if it was a feather. “Well, make haste.” She climbed into the buggy and Bess hurried to join her. A big black dog with a muzzle of white hair sat in the back and leaned his head forward to sniff Bess. He must have decided Bess passed inspection because he gave her ear a lick. “That’s Boomer,” Mammi said. “He showed up out of the blue one day after my Samuel passed.”

“Boomer?” Bess asked, trying to push the dog back. “Where’d you get a name like Boomer?” The dog sniffed out the hamper with great interest. Blackie let out a hissing sound and Boomer drew back.

Mammi shrugged. “Wait’ll you hear his bark. Sounds like a blast of dynamite.”

Boomer settled down onto the buggy floor and fell asleep.

“A good guard dog,” Bess said, trying to be friendly.

Mammi snorted, but she dropped a big hand to stroke Boomer’s head. “The day that dog barks at anything worth barking at is the day there’ll be white blackbirds in the sky.”

“Mammi, do you want me to drive? You must not be feeling too well after your female surgery and all.” Bess hoped she might say yes. She enjoyed driving horses. Some of her fondest memories were sitting with her father on the plow, holding the giant draft horses’ reins in her small hands, his big hands covering hers.

“Female surgery?” Mammi gave her a blank look. “Oh. Oh! Had my teeth pulled.” She opened her mouth wide and clicked her teeth. “Store-bought choppers. As good as new.”

Then what am I doing here?
Bess wondered.

Mammi slapped the horse’s reins and it took off with a start, as if they were heading to a fire. But instead of turning down the road that would take them to Rose Hill Farm, Mammi steered the horse to a little bakery called The Sweet Tooth. She stopped under a shade tree and wrapped the reins on a low-hanging branch. “Bet you’re hungry. Let’s go get us something to eat.” She turned to Boomer, who had a hope to go in with her. She waved her finger at him to say no. Boomer hung his head and settled back down for another nap.

Bess
was
hungry. The last few months, she had grown so quickly, she was always hungry. But it surprised her that Mammi was willing to shell out money to pay for premade food. Her father said that his mother’s cooking skills surpassed most everyone in the county. And she was thrifty! Mammi never bought anything new or threw anything away; even her letters were written on the backs of old bills.

Bess followed and waited in line behind Mammi at the bakery counter. An older woman standing at the counter gave a double take when she saw Mammi. The woman had a massive pile of braided hair, like a coiled snake, on top of her head. Bess wondered how she managed to sleep at night.

The woman recovered from her surprise. She put a hand to her chest. “Bertha Riehl, as I live and breathe.”

“Dottie Stroot,” Mammi said. “And I hope you are still living and breathing.”

“Have you finally decided to let me sell your rose petal jam in my bakery?”

“I have not,” Mammi said firmly.

Mrs. Stroot sighed. “Folks are asking me for it all the time, Bertha. They can’t always find you to buy it up at the farm.”

“I’m busy.”

“I’d give you a generous cut.”

“For my own jam?” Mammi stared her down, and Bess saw Mrs. Stroot start to crumble.

In a longsuffering voice, Mrs. Stroot asked, “Is there something you came in for today?”

“I want to talk to that one.” Mammi pointed in the kitchen area, to the back of a girl in an apron and uniform who was putting a pie in a pink box, then carefully tying it with string.

Mrs. Stroot looked puzzled but called out, “Lainey. This lady wants you to wait on her.” An oven buzzer went off and Mrs. Stroot quickly forgot Mammi to hurry to the kitchen.

Without looking up, the girl named Lainey called out, “Be with you in a minute.” Bess saw her write something on top of the pink box and slip the cap back on her pen. The girl whirled around to face Mammi and froze. Then she stiffened up straight and swallowed hard. Bess was getting the feeling that people often had to swallow hard when they encountered her grandmother. She felt the same way.

“Bertha Riehl,” Lainey said, faint and far off.

Bess had it wrong. Lainey wasn’t a girl at all. She was a small woman, probably in her mid-twenties. She was very pretty. Her hair—nearly coal black—was cut short and curly. Her thickly lashed eyes were the color of blueberries that grew in her father’s garden. Her complexion was perfection, as delicate as bone china.

“Lainey O’Toole,” Mammi said flatly in return. “Last time I laid eyes on you, you were ten years old and so thin I could almost see the sun shining through you. You’ve gone and grown up.”

Lainey swallowed again. “It’s good to see you, Bertha.”

“This here is Bess.” Mammi indicated Bess with a thumb, without saying she was her granddaughter. Mammi never told more than the minimum.

Lainey gave Bess a brief nod, then turned back to Mammi. “I’ve been meaning to pay you a call since I came back to Stoney Ridge.”

“Good. I’ll expect you for Sunday noon dinner.” Mammi looked through the glass counter. She pointed to a cherry tart. “You make those?”

Lainey nodded. “Just this morning.”

“I’ll have one. Make it two. And a cup of coffee.” She glanced at Bess. “What about you?”

“A Danish please,” Bess answered. “And a coffee too.”

“Make it milk,” Mammi said. “And best stick to those cherry tarts. If those are as good as I remember, you’d be a fool to miss ’em.” She paid Lainey for the baked goods and took her coffee to a small table by the window.

Bess asked her grandmother how she knew her.

“Who?” Mammi asked, the picture of surprise.

“The bakery lady. Lainey.”

“She grew up around here. Then she left.”

Mammi didn’t offer up another word. She ate with the fork in one hand, the knife in the other, polished off her two cherry tarts and then eyed Bess’s. Bess quickly stuffed it into her mouth. It was the finest cherry tart she had ever tasted, with a crumbly crust and cherries that were sugared just right and still tart. Soon, Mammi was ready to go, and she looked at Bess pointedly. Bess guessed that when Mammi was ready, she’d better be.

That was another odd thing about Mammi—as big as she was, she could move like greased lightning. In a twinkling, she was at the door, pointing at Lainey. “Sunday noon, then.” It was a statement, not a question.

The bakery lady looked a little pale but gave a nod.

Lainey O’Toole watched Bertha Riehl walk out the door and climb into the buggy. Bertha had always been a big, husky woman, now even bigger than Lainey remembered. Older, too, but she still moved along like a ship under full sail. And beside her was the young girl with platinum blond hair under an organza prayer cap that was shaped differently from the Lancaster heart-shaped cap. She had white lashes that framed her wide blue eyes. They made an odd pair. The girl turned back to wave at Lainey, as if she knew she was being watched. That young girl seemed as jumpy as a cricket. But those blue eyes—they were the color of a sapphire.

As surprised as Lainey was to see Bertha Riehl walk into the bakery, she was relieved too. She had wanted to see Bertha again and wasn’t sure how to go about it. She’d already been in Stoney Ridge for two weeks and hadn’t mustered up the courage to head to Rose Hill Farm. Bertha wasn’t the kind of woman you could just walk up to and start asking personal questions. She could just imagine the way Bertha would stare her down, until Lainey’s mind would go blank and she would forget why she was there. Like it did only fifteen minutes ago, when she turned and found herself face-to-face with her in the bakery.

Still, there were things only Bertha could tell her. It was the reason she was in Stoney Ridge in the first place.

Lainey had a plan. She was on her way to attend the Culinary Institute of America in upstate New York—she had scrimped and saved every penny for tuition since she was eighteen. She finally had enough money, was accepted, and was eager for her new life to begin. The school term didn’t start until September, but she wanted to find a place to live and get settled. She thought she could pick up a waitress job to tide her over. Lainey liked planning her future. It was a trick she had learned years ago. Making plans gave her great comfort; she always felt better with a plan in place—like she had some control over her life.

Two weeks ago, Lainey packed up everything she owned and said a teary goodbye to her two best friends, Robin and Ally. She was going to make a quick pass through Stoney Ridge on her way to New York. At least, it was going to be a quick stop until her eleven-year-old VW Beetle sputtered to its death in front of The Sweet Tooth and she went inside to borrow the phone. Apparently, the bakery owner had just put up a sign for help wanted and assumed Lainey had come in to apply.

“Can you bake?” the owner, Mrs. Stroot, asked.

“Once I won first prize at the county fair for my cherry tart,” Lainey said truthfully. She was just about to explain that she only came in to make a phone call, when Mrs. Stroot cut her off and gave a decided nod.

“You’re hired,” Mrs. Stroot said. “I’m desperate. My best girl quit this morning and my other best girl is out with bunion surgery. I’m busier than a one-armed wallpaper hanger. Here’s an apron and there’s the kitchen.”

Lainey tried, several times, to inject that she wasn’t going to be in town very long, but Mrs. Stroot was more of a talker than a listener. She pointed to a building across the street as she dialed the phone. “See that brick building across the street? The landlord happens to be my very own sister—” she held a finger in the air when someone answered the phone—“Ellie? I found you a boarder for that room you got available. What’s that? Turn your telly down.” She rolled her eyes at Lainey and whispered, “She doesn’t appreciate being interrupted during
General Hospital
.” Ellie must have said something because Mrs. Stroot’s attention riveted back to the phone. “A lady boarder. Uh-huh, uh-huh.” She covered the mouthpiece. “Do you smoke?”