Seasons of Sugarcreek 02. Spring's Renewal (2 page)

He flinched in surprise. At first, he’d only been thinking about her eyes. They were light brown and tilted up a bit at the sides, like she was about to break out laughing. But when his gaze flickered to her lips, he noticed only one side of her mouth rose perfectly. The other stopped in a maze of puckered red skin that decorated her cheek. “I think I’ll pass on that drink, then. It’s better to be safe than sorry.”

She stopped. Suddenly looking uncertain.

And it was no wonder. He, too, had heard the strain in his voice. Tim was reminded of a deer in the glade, her stance was so timid, her posture ready to make a quick escape if need be.

Struggling to not stare at the scars on her face, he spoke again. “I’m Tim Graber. Frank Graber’s nephew.”

Her posture eased. Eyes, brown and expressive, looked him over. “And I am Clara Slabaugh.”

“Do you live nearby?”

She pointed to a white house in the distance. “Close enough. I walked to school today. Going home on the road takes longer, so I thought I’d cut through here.”

“School?”

“Yes. I’m the area’s teacher.” She paused. “Sometimes I enjoy walking home this way. It’s a lot quicker to take a turn by the creek than to keep to the road.”

She said the words almost like an apology. As if she was the one intruding on his time. But that couldn’t have been further from the truth. He was the one who didn’t belong.

Or, perhaps he was trespassing? “Clara, am I on your land?”

“Heavens, no. I’m not certain who exactly owns this piece of property, if you want to know the truth. For as long as I can remember, all of us in the area have used it. And we all enjoy the creek. Even the Allens. They’re your English neighbors, you know.”

“I…I met them.” Even as he uttered the words, he winced. Oh, could any man sound more feeble?

For a moment, her eyes held his. Then, as a faint red flush appeared in her cheek—the cheek that looked as soft and perfect as the petals of a May rose, she turned away. “I’d better be going.”

He didn’t want her to leave. There was something about Clara that calmed him. He appreciated her serene demeanor. So much so, he yearned to keep her close. “Would you like me to walk you the rest of the way home?”

“There’s no need. I walk by myself all the time.”

“Ah.” Now he was embarrassed. But not enough to not risk getting to know her better. “Are you married, Clara?”

Her eyes narrowed in surprise—and with a bit of distrust. “No.”

“Courting anyone?” Oh, but it was a forward question. What had possessed him to ever ask such a thing?

Hurt filled her gaze. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

She was right. It was not. He’d been unforgivably rude.

“I must be going.” Before even waiting for a reply, she turned her back to him and started walking briskly toward the small white house in the distance.

Too affected by his impertinence, Tim simply stood silently and watched her walk away. Within minutes, she’d gone up and down a hill, then faded from view. “Goodbye, Clara,” he whispered.

Then wondered why he was so overcome.

Had she ever met anyone so terribly direct? Anyone who had ever made her feel so…much? Continuing her walk toward home, Clara quickened her steps, hardly noticing that her skirts kept getting tangled in her long strides.

But even the strenuous walk couldn’t push thoughts of him away.

Tim Graber had done strange things to her heart. From the moment he’d cast those wonderful golden eyes her way, she’d felt lost in his gaze. Almost like a bolt of lightning had blazed its way into her insides and delivered a mighty shock. She’d hardly been able to breathe, she’d felt so fluttery standing next to him.

But then he’d asked such prying questions. Asked if she was married or had a sweetheart. That had been when she’d known he was no different than any other boy in Sugarcreek.

He’d been teasing her. Of course she didn’t have a suitor. In all her years no man had ever thought to look beyond her scars. Clara knew she should be accustomed to it. Hadn’t her mother told her time and again that no man would ever choose her over a girl who was unmarked?

Her temper in such a state, Clara pulled open the door and shut it tight—more harshly than necessary. The walls shook, rattling the glass of the front window.

“Clara, is that you? What in heaven’s name are you doing, crashing into the house like a loose animal?”

Setting her satchel down, she breathed deep for patience. But yet again, her mother pushed her buttons. “Clara, why haven’t you answered me? Can you hear me?”

“I can hear you, Mamm,” Clara finally replied.

“Well, then? What are you doing?”

Clara stood for a moment and closed her eyes in frustration. Some days she wished her life was different. If she couldn’t have a husband, then she wished she could live on her own. Or if that wasn’t possible, she wished her mother was less demanding.

Tears pricked her eyes. Oh, but she shouldn’t be letting her temper get the best of her! And she certainly shouldn’t be thinking such ugly thoughts. She needed to take time to give thanks for her blessings.

“Daughter, why aren’t you walking down here? What are you doing?”

She started. “Nothing, Mamm. I was just setting my things down.” Smoothing her skirts, Clara walked into the parlor, where she found her mother sitting quietly in the dim light.

Nothing occupied her hands. No book was nearby, either. As the years had passed, she’d done less and less for herself. In many ways, she seemed to enjoy being fiercely dependent on Clara on many levels. Pointing to the clock on the opposite wall, she said, “You’re home late today.”

“Am I?” Uneager to tell her mother about meeting Tim, she said, “I must have taken longer cleaning up the classroom than I thought.”

“I’ve been watching the clock for thirty minutes.”

Clara knew she had.

For too many years, it had just been the two of them. Her father had died while plowing the fields only a few months before her sisters had gotten married and moved away. Next thing she knew, Clara was living alone with her mother. It had been a big change—perhaps too much of one for her mother. As the years passed, her health had fallen into a decline.

Without ever discussing it much, everyone had just assumed that Clara, with her lack of future prospects, would stay at home to care for their mother.

And so she had.

Sitting down on the edge of a chair, Clara knew her duty: “How was your day?”

“As well as can be expected. I had a headache off and on for most of the afternoon. Your tardiness made it worse. Promise me that you won’t be so late again.”

“I cannot do that.” Realizing she sounded a bit harsh, Clara amended her words—and continued the lies. “It was necessary to do some extra work today. It couldn’t be helped. And I’m sure it will happen again. It is my job, yes?”

Looking deflated, her mother nodded. “I suppose. And we most certainly do need your income. Why, I couldn’t survive without it.”

Before Clara could say a word, her mother shakily rose to her feet. “Well, let’s make supper now. I am terribly hungry. How about we make some chicken and dumplings? That sounds like a good dish for such a dreary day.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell her mother that it hadn’t been dreary out at all. In fact, the day had been a glorious one.

She was tempted to point out that most anyone would suffer headaches by sitting in the dark, day after day. That her
mamm
would feel better if she went for a walk and tended to the garden.

But the conversation that would follow would most likely drain the last of the sympathy she felt for her mother. And if that happened, then she would become depressed as well.

So Clara didn’t dare say anything. She followed her mother to the kitchen, each step heavy with wishes that things were different. Praying for guidance. Again.

Lilly Allen knew she was getting fat. Standing sideways in front of the tiny mirror in the women’s restroom in her waitress uniform, she examined herself from every angle. “You’re pregnant,” she whispered. “You’re supposed to be getting bigger.”

But somehow she looked bigger
everywhere
, not just around her middle. Yep, at the moment, she looked chubby, not pregnant.

And she was five months along.

“I’ll feel better when I start to show,” she promised her reflection. Yep, she was sure she’d feel better when she was in maternity tops. And maybe she’d feel better when she stopped cramping so much, too.

Lately, she’d been cramping a lot.

Shaking her head, she strode out of the ladies’ room and went right back to work. Now that the harsh days of winter were almost behind them, the tourists had started flocking back to the Sugarcreek Inn in record numbers.

Each day she waitressed, the time flew by. Lilly knew she was really lucky to have found a job that she was so well suited for. The tips were great, the other girls who worked there were nice, and the customers were fun. The only negative was that her feet and ankles were sore and swollen at the end of the day.

Racing back to the kitchen, she handed Gretta a new order. “Three slices of chocolate crème pie and one shoofly, please.”

“I’ll get in a jiffy,” Gretta promised with a smile.

Standing beside Gretta, Miriam laughed. “Lilly, I think you could tell Gretta that the customers wanted ten pieces of pie and she’d be agreeable to it. She’s walking in a cloud, she is.”

“I can’t help it.” Gretta shrugged. “I’m just so happy right now.”

Though the restaurant was full, Lilly leaned against the counter and gazed at the newlywed. Just a few weeks ago, she’d attended her very first Amish wedding. It had been amazing to watch Gretta and Lilly’s next-door neighbor Joshua Graber exchange vows. “Married life is agreeing with you, isn’t it?”

“Oh, indeed.”

“And you don’t mind living above the Graber’s store?”

“Oh, not at all. The Graber Country Store is a cavernous place. Our little apartment above the storage area is a right cozy spot for Joshua and me. One day, when we’re in a family way, I suppose we’ll have to think about getting a home of our own,” she mused as she sliced neat portions of the chocolate pie and deftly slid them onto the plates. “A better place to raise our
kinner
. But for right now, I’m appreciating the privacy. If we weren’t above the store, we’d be living with one of our families.”

Lilly winked Miriam’s way. “Who knows? With all that privacy, Gretta might be in a family way sooner than we think.”

Miriam chuckled as Gretta turned bright red. “I think I’ll go see if anyone would like some coffee.”

“I’ll be right behind you,” Lilly said. After putting the four dessert plates on a tray, she lifted it, then put it right down in alarm. She’d felt a tightening around her middle.

“Lilly, are you all right?” Hands covered in flour, Miriam scurried around the stainless steel counter. “I heard you gasp.”

She rubbed her side. “I guess I am. When I lifted the tray I felt a strange pull, but maybe it’s just a muscle.”

“Or maybe it’s the baby moving?” Miriam mused.

“I…I bet that’s it.” She didn’t think so, though. The pregnancy books described a baby’s movement as a flutter. Not a sharp twinge.

Forgoing the tray, she decided to carry out the plates in her hands. It might take two trips, but at least she wouldn’t be lifting so much weight. “I’ll just deliver them this way.”

“Don’t overdo it, Lilly,” Miriam warned. “You don’t want to hurt yourself.”

“I’ll be careful. Thanks.” Quickly, she carried two dishes out, then turned around and brought the next two out as well.

She was just considering a break when two women entered the restaurant. On the surface, they looked as different as night and day. One woman was dressed in a gray dress, black tennis shoes, and black apron. A delicately pressed white
kapp
covered neatly arranged hair. Next to her, was another woman, about the same age. Earrings and a gold wedding band decorated her ears and fingers. A periwinkle blue sweater complemented neatly pressed khakis and navy flats. Light makeup accented her hazel eyes.

“Hi, Mrs. Graber! Hi, Mom. This is a nice surprise.”

The two women looked at each other and grinned. “We’ve been out at the sales in Berlin this morning and decided we needed sustenance,” Mrs. Graber said. “There was no place better for us than here.”

Grabbing a pair of menus, Lilly led them to a table at the back of the dining area, right next to the kitchen door. “How about this table? That way Gretta will be able to come out and say hello, too.”

“That’s a fine idea,” her mom said.

Just as the front door rang again, Lilly turned on her heel and then was brought up short. It was a man. An Amish man. Hat in hand, he examined the bright, cheery restaurant with a frown.

She rushed over. “May I help you?”

“I came for lunch,” he said, obviously ill at ease in the crowd of women. “Do you serve lunch?”

“We do.” She led him to a table by the window. It was a little apart from the rest of the restaurant, and neither near the kitchen nor many of the other customers. Lilly had an idea that he had no need to advertise his presence there.

He sat without a smile and opened his menu without a word of thanks.

Too busy to wonder why he was so grumpy, Lilly went to check on her mom and Elsa. “Do you know what you’d like?”

They were both staring at the restaurant’s newest customer with great interest. “Oh, no, Lilly, we don’t,” Mrs. Graber said in a distracted way. “Give us a minute, will ya?”

“Sure.” Reluctantly, she approached the grumpy man again. “Are you ready, sir?”

After a long moment, he looked her way. “I am.”

She blinked in surprise. He had the most beautiful blue eyes she’d ever seen in her life. Blue and clear and…sad? “What…what would you like for lunch?”

“The chicken dinner with potatoes.” He spoke every word slowly, like he was carefully measuring his speech.

“I’ll have that right out.”

He only nodded in response.

Obviously, he’d said all he intended to. As she walked back to the kitchen and turned in her order, Lilly wondered what had made him so unhappy.

And then she wondered why she even cared.