Assaulted Pretzel (5 page)

Jakob’s voice morphed into the one Claire had come to equate with Esther’s grandfather, a voice the detective turned to often, whenever he shared one of the more difficult memories of his childhood. “You should spend more time with Benjamin, son. He has turned his sister’s pie stand into the talk of the festival.”

“The talk of the festival?” she echoed. “I’m surprised he’d say that. I thought the Amish didn’t boast like that.”

“They don’t. But that didn’t stop Dat from implying.” Jakob fisted his hands at his sides only to release them in conjunction with a deep, audible breath. “No. I’m not going to go there today.”

Her stomach dropped. “But you said you’d come. Please, Jakob.”

He closed his eyes briefly, opening them once again as he shook his head at her. “No. I mean I’m not revisiting my past today. Not the bad parts, anyway.”

Relief flooded her from head to toe and she reached out, tucking her hand inside the crook of his arm. “Then let’s go. I’ve got some Schnitz and Knepp to try.”

His deep, husky laugh warmed her from the inside out, a feeling that rivaled the Benjamin-induced flutter in its own right and only served to increase her level of confusion even more.

Their shoes parted company with cobblestone and then concrete in favor of dirt as they made their way down the hill and onto the official festival grounds, their proximity to each other growing uncomfortably close as the crowd swirled around them.

“Where should we go first?” she shouted over the roar of a crowd made up of English and Amish alike. From what
she could see so far, most—but not all—of the folks in straw hats and head caps were situated behind wooden booths, their hands busy exchanging food for money with festivalgoers. Some, though, were simply walking around or shuttling more food between the line of buggies on the western side of the field and the owner’s particular food booth.

With nary a response, Jakob grabbed hold of her hand and zigzagged her through the maze of booths before coming to a complete stop in the center of a wide clearing. Then, lifting his finger ever so slightly, he guided her eyes to a booth some ten or so yards from where they stood, his voice choked with emotion. “She’s still selling them…”

She studied the handful of English people waiting their turn for whatever delicacy that particular booth was offering and then let her gaze shift upward, to the hand-painted words across the wooden upper beam.

Salted Pretzels. $2.00

Turning, she looked from Jakob to the stand and back again. “That’s Martha’s booth?”

His head stopped midnod, the expression on his face telling her everything she needed to know. Yet still, she glanced back at the pretzel booth.

Sure enough, there was Martha, handing a paper-wrapped pretzel to the mother of an all-too-eager youngster on the customer side of the makeshift counter. To Martha’s left was Claire’s employee and friend, Esther—the strings of the young woman’s head cap noticeably tied in the presence of her mother.

Claire smiled.

Esther was proud of her Amish upbringing. Proud of her choice to be baptized. But, every once in a while, the nineteen-year-old showed a slightly rebellious streak in everything from letting the ties of her head cap dangle
across her shoulders to pumping Claire for details of life in New York City.

Seconds later, her focus still trained on Esther and Martha, she saw a third person step forward inside the booth. This face bore no resemblance to that of the family member on either side of him or the one still standing, motionless, beside Claire.

“Isaac?” Jakob mumbled beneath his breath.

She reengaged Jakob’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Yes, that’s Isaac.”

Claire had met Isaac Schrock one afternoon several weeks earlier when he’d come into Heavenly Treasures to drop off a few consignment items for his sister, Martha. A quiet man, he’d come and gone with little fanfare, waving to Esther on his way back out of the shop.

When he’d gone, Esther had filled in the blanks for Claire, explaining that Isaac had been taken in by Jakob and Martha’s family when they were seventeen and fourteen and Isaac was just four. Isaac’s mother had come to Heavenly from an Amish community in Ohio or Indiana shortly after Isaac’s birth. The widow had raised him on a tiny farm down the street from the Fishers until the day she died, leaving Isaac an orphan quickly claimed by Jakob and Martha’s parents.

At Jakob’s slight stagger, she moved her hand to his shoulder, following his wide-eyed gaze back to the pretzel booth and the unmistakable look of stunned recognition on Isaac’s narrow face.

Slowly, tentatively, Isaac backed away from his position between his sister and niece and made his way around the confines of the booth, his jaw slightly slack, his feet leading the way with purpose.

Claire’s heart began to pound in her chest as her gaze
ricocheted between an approaching Isaac, a slowly moving Jakob, and a stunned Martha who had looked up at that exact moment and seemed to register what was about to happen.

Swallowing over the lump that rose in her throat, Claire silently willed Isaac to go with his heart rather than heed the pull of the Ordnung. For as limited as her knowledge of the Amish still was at that point, she knew that if Isaac truly thought about what he was about to do, he’d turn and walk the other way.

But knowing that and even preparing for it did little to ease the ache she felt in her heart as Isaac suddenly disappeared into the crowd, his change in intent and direction soliciting a garbled and barely audible protest from Jakob’s lips.

H
e tried to brush off the almost-reunion with Isaac and enjoy the rest of the festival, but Claire knew it was just an act. Jakob may have been able to muster a smile for the English residents of Heavenly who stopped to shake hands with the detective over the next hour or so, but it was a sentiment that never made it to his eyes.

Or his cheeks.

She’d tried to convince him the change in Isaac’s direction wasn’t what he’d thought but, rather, the result of the sleeve-encased arm that had reached out and pulled Jakob’s brother into the crowd. But it didn’t matter. Jakob was convinced it was no accident, pointing to the epidemic of whispering that had begun to rise up among the Amish contingent on the heels of the ill-fated encounter.

“I shouldn’t have come,” Jakob muttered in her ear as they made their way through the center of the festival, all
thoughts of Schnitz and Knepp on hold. “My being here just put Isaac and Martha in a bad position.”

“But if he was pulled aside for something completely different—like maybe to help a friend or…I don’t know…give some advice—then all of this is a moot point, Jakob,” she pleaded. “Why do you assume it’s a slight on you?”

Jakob stopped, midstep, and peered down at her, his eyes hooded. “I’m not saying it’s a slight on me. I’m saying that Isaac came inches away from making a mistake that could have had him shunned and it would have been my fault.”

“You’re his brother.”

“I’m also his brother who made a commitment I quickly broke.”

She touched his shoulder with what she hoped was an understanding hand. “You were their brother first. Not even the Ordnung can change that fact.”

Before Jakob could respond, her whole body lurched forward only to be anchored back to her original spot by a pair of strong, yet callused hands. “I am sorry, ma’am, I did not mean to bump you.”

The deep voice, along with the telltale fluttering in her chest, told her who was behind her even before she turned. “Benjamin, how are you?”

She felt Jakob stiffen beside her but opted not to let that rattle her. The issue between Jakob and Benjamin was theirs to deal with, not hers.

“Claire. I did not see you standing there.”

“It’s a festival, Ben,” Jakob snapped. “There are people everywhere. Which means looking in a direction other than the one you’re walking isn’t exactly advisable.”

Benjamin paused, clearly torn on whether to engage Jakob, but in the end, he merely took Claire’s hand in his
and held it gently, his deeply penetrating blue eyes trained squarely on her face. “I was looking down, troubled by the news, and I did not see you. I am sorry.”

Jakob held up his hands. “Look. This was not Isaac’s fault. I shouldn’t have—”

“It is no one’s fault,” Benjamin said as he grasped his clean-shaven chin between his thumb and forefinger. “There was no reason to think Mr. Karble was not honest.”

“Mr. Karble?” Claire echoed. “You mean Rob Karble, the toy guy?”

Benjamin’s black hat moved with his nod. “That is the one.”

“But isn’t he teaming up with Daniel Lapp to design an Amish line of toys that will be made here in Heavenly and sold nationwide?” Jakob stepped closer to Benjamin, tightening up their conversational circle. “That’s got to be good for everyone, no?”

“If that is what happened, yes. But plans have changed. Now we learn they will make Daniel’s toys on an assembly line far from here.”

Claire sucked in a breath. “But I thought Rob Karble was here for meetings with Daniel.”

“It was during the meeting in Daniel’s workshop this morning that he got what he needed.”

“Got what he needed?” Jakob shifted his weight across his widened stance, crossing his arms as he did. “What does that mean?”

“It means he took pictures of Daniel and Isaac’s work so his company can make their toys. Isaac even showed the plans for his roller tracks.”

“But he’s going to pay them for their ideas at least, isn’t he?” Claire insisted.

“That is not what I have heard.”

“Did you just say Isaac?” Jakob stammered. “What’s he got to do with Daniel’s toys?”

“Isaac works with Daniel in his toy shop. It is one of his toys that brings Mr. Karble here. He is not happy at the news. No one is.”

For a moment, Claire simply stood there, soaking up everything she was hearing against the mental soundtrack of a predawn wake-up call that brought any and all unease it had originally caused back to the surface.

Was
this
what Rob and Ann Karble had been fighting about during the night? And if it was, why did it sound like the toy guru himself was in favor of the project if this was what he’d planned all along?

It made no sense.

“Is it possible Daniel misunderstood?” Jakob finally asked.

“Daniel did not know. He came here happy. But the letter changed that.”

Claire forced her focus onto the present—one that included the handsome Amish man in front of her, and the handsome detective beside her. “What letter?”

Stretching his head upward, Benjamin scanned the crowd around them before motioning to someone off to their right. “There are many copies. I know Eli has one.”

Eli Miller, Benjamin’s younger brother and the object of Esther’s affection, quickly joined them, his hand clutched tightly around a rolled-up piece of paper. His smile at Claire was followed by a nod at Jakob. If Eli’s acknowledgment of the detective bothered Benjamin, he didn’t let it show.

Progress…

“Eli, please show Claire the letter.”

Eli quietly unfurled the paper and handed it to Claire,
his quick-to-boil temper that had gotten him into trouble so many times in the past quickly rising to the surface. “Karble is a crook!”

“Eli!”

At Benjamin’s reprimand, Eli clasped his hands behind his back and stood ramrod straight, his posture pulling taut on the suspenders that held up his pants. Claire flashed an understanding smile in the young man’s direction and then turned her attention to the interoffice memo in her hands.

Jakob released a long, low whistle beneath his breath. “Where did you get this?” he asked Eli.

“I do not know. But there are many copies here. This one came from Samuel Yoder, after he took Isaac aside and showed him.” Eli swiped the back of his hand across his forehead, narrowly missing the brim of his hat. “Isaac is very upset. Esther said he did not return to the pretzel stand again after he showed them the letter.”

Claire pulled her focus off Eli long enough to take in her immediate surroundings. Sure enough, the smiles on the Amish vendors seemed more forced than they had when she and Jakob had first arrived. The Amish who weren’t working behind a booth were still milling about, but they were confined to clusters with at least one member of each group holding a copy of Rob Karble’s memo in their hand.