Chapter 6
6
Moses left the office door all the way open as Lois swept the hallway, vacuumed the shop carpet, took out the trash, and then stomped around, banging who knew what. Neither one of them should be working on Sunday, and yet both of them were.
He tried to concentrate on Scotty’s accounting program but kept thinking about Lois. Fearless Lois. Feisty Lois. Fiery-eyed Lois.
Beautiful Lois.
He squinted and forced himself to focus on the monitor again. Sales began picking up in April, peaked in August, and then fell flat by November. Perhaps Moses could come up with a Christmas festival or something connected to the market to increase sales in November and December. January would be slow no matter what. Maybe a Valentine’s Day event would bring more people in during February.
“Will I see you tomorrow?” Lois stood in the doorway. Her white Kapp with the heart-shaped back was a little askew. He’d always liked the heart-shaped Kappa. His mother still wore them, but he knew the staff at the care home tired of bleaching and pressing them.
“Moses?”
He cleared his throat. “I’m not sure. I’ll call Scotty and see where we’re at.”
“All right.” She tightened her apron and then flipped her cape over her dress, which was the same color as an indigo bunting. “I’ll see you when I see you.”
“I guess so.”
“Make sure and lock up.”
His gaze drifted back to the computer. She harrumphed and must have left. He didn’t hear her again.
Two hours later he noticed the time. 11:05. He yawned, stretched, and stood. He put his notebook in his satchel and slung it across his chest. He’d run home. He turned off the office light, closed the door, and made his way down the pitch-black hallway. And then he tripped. As he sprawled out on the floor he felt the bristles of the broom. He tried to stand, but his foot landed on top of the handle and he slid again. Not sure where the broom ended up, he stayed on all fours and crawled to the back door. When he reached it, he pulled himself up.
His knees hurt but he wasn’t sure whether it was from falling or crawling.
He opened the door and stepped out into the night. A near-full moon shone. An owl hooted. A light turned off from above. Had Lois been waiting until she heard the clatter of him falling before she went to bed?
Suddenly exhausted, he fished his phone out of his satchel and ordered a rideshare. But as tired as Moses was, once he crawled beneath his old quilt, sleep eluded him. He wasn’t sure why he’d gone to the Amish church service. Probably just to torment himself. Seeing Lois again had impaired his judgment and transported him back in time five years. He needed to get a grip and put that behind him—again.
He climbed out of bed, unlocked the door to the warehouse, shuffled through it, and then unlocked the door to the dimly lit grocery store. A car slowed on the highway, and Moses waited. He didn’t want someone calling the police on him for “breaking” into his own store. After the car passed, he took a chocolate milk from the cooler and a bag of popcorn from the snack aisle, noted the items on a pad by the register, and then retraced his steps back to his studio apartment. After sitting down at his desk, he turned on the lamp and stared at the collage of the painted buntings for a minute. For a second he felt a sense of peace, even a hint of harmony. Then he opened the envelope Casey had given him. He might as well write Teresa Schrock and ask to join the circle letter. He decided to use a nickname— Menno , the name Casey sometimes called him after he joined the Mennonites, in memory of Menno Simons, the Catholic priest who became an Anabaptist in the 1500s. Followers of his beliefs became known as Mennonites.
He needed a good solid Amish surname to go with Menno. The last thing he wanted was for someone to figure out who he really was and share their opinions about his business ventures. Stoltzfus.
Menno Stoltzfus.
He’d mail his letters from Delaware to further protect his identity.
After he finished the letter and addressed and stamped the envelope, he crawled back into bed, going over his to-do list for the next day. Stop by to see his mother, finally. He’d failed at that again today. Check on Sara at the café. Spend some time in the grocery store, besides raiding it for a late-night snack. Call Scotty. See to payroll. And figure out what to do about Lois Yoder.
Moses stared out the window as the aide helped his mother to the bathroom. A robin hopped across the grass. A crow swooped down alongside it. Then another crow. Soon there were five crows on the lawn, and the robin flew up into a dogwood tree.
“Denki,” Mamm said to the caregiver as they returned. Moses turned away from the window. Mamm’s face lit up. “ Sohn .” She reached out to him. “You’re such a good son.” He wasn’t sure she remembered his name—but at least she remembered he was her son, although she hadn’t remembered he’d arrived fifteen minutes ago. A double bonus was she thought he was good. If she only knew.
She wore a nightgown and robe. Her gray hair hung down her back in a braid. He would let the aide get her dressed when she had time, but in the meantime he could do her hair and cover it.
He motioned to the chair at the end of her bed. “Mamm, sit down. I’ll do your hair.”
“Denki.” She sat a little awkwardly.
The aide said she’d be back in a half hour.
Moses began undoing Mamm’s braid. She had been diagnosed with early-onset dementia six years ago, at the age of fifty-seven. A year and a half later, Moses’s father had a massive heart attack and died in his sleep. Mamm was found the next morning wandering the lane in her nightgown. Thankfully the neighbor called Moses, who was living at another of his father’s farms near Strasburg, instead of the police. The neighbor had already found his father and called for an ambulance when Moses arrived.
In the next week, Moses made all the arrangements to bury his Dat and found a woman to come in during the day to care for his Mamm, after a quick lesson from their family doctor on her diagnosis. Something his father had kept from him.
His family had always been different from others in their Amish community. He was an only child. His parents were older than his friends’ parents. And they didn’t have any relatives in the area. His Dat had grown up in Ohio and sold a hundred-acre family farm he’d inherited there when he was in his thirties, and moved to Lancaster County, where he married Mamm and invested his money into two properties before prices in the area skyrocketed. Over the years, he purchased and sold farms in the area.
When Moses started to notice Mamm’s memory problems, without knowing the diagnosis, he thought he’d have another decade or two with Dat, at the least, to learn more about the businesses and their family history.
Instead he was thrust into caring for his mother and sorting out his father’s finances and figuring out how to pay for Mamm’s care without any insurance. He feared the ongoing expense would break their district’s mutual aid fund and determined to pay for it on his own, or at least as much as possible. That meant he needed at least a couple of businesses to turn an ongoing profit. He had never enjoyed farming, so he decided to sell the properties, buy the grocery store, and hold on to the rest of the money to invest over the next few years. That was how his business journey began.
Moses picked up the silver-plated brush on Mamm’s dresser top. As he brushed her hair he said, “I went to church yesterday.” He’d told her several times he’d left the Amish and joined the Mennonites, but she never remembered. Nor did she remember he was spending time with Sara Fisher.
“How’s Lois?” Mamm asked.
He didn’t answer, hoping she’d forget what she’d asked.
Mamm waited a moment and then said, “Lois Yoder. How is she? Have you proposed to her yet?”
Moses took a deep breath. Mamm remembered Lois’s name but not his. “Why do you ask?”
“You were such good friends in school.”
They weren’t. They’d hated each other in school. No, that wasn’t true. He’d actually adored Lois—he just liked to tease her. She hated him. But then there was a time she’d liked him, really liked him, almost as much as he liked her. But he didn’t want to think about that.
Mamm sat up a little straighter. “Lois is full of life. And cute as a ... bird.”
Moses suppressed a smile at Mamm’s play—or fumble—on words as he grabbed the bunch of bobby pins off the dresser. “She moved up to Big Valley.”
Mamm leaned back in the chair. “She’s back.”
As Moses brushed all of Mamm’s hair into his hand, he asked, “How do you know?”
“Amy Kauffman told me, a couple of years ago.”
Either Mamm was unusually lucid today or she had a special file in her brain for Lois Yoder that included Amy Kauffman. Although now her last name was Dienner. Moses had sold one of his father’s farms to Amy and her husband, Bennie.
“You and Lois cared about each other.” Mamm’s voice grew louder. “I don’t know why you aren’t married by now.”
Moses slipped her hair into a fastener, ignoring what she’d said. He’d kept Mamm at home for a year with the help of several caregivers, including one who took the night shift, before he moved Mamm into a care center. Moses had reached a point of exhaustion after Mamm woke him three or four times a night for an entire year. He feared his father’s heart attack was brought on by exhaustion—and stress.
Mamm had been in two previous care centers before this latest one. She received better care here, plus therapy. He hoped he wouldn’t have to move her again. Her memory kept deteriorating but her body remained strong. The doctor said she could easily live another decade. When she was gone, he’d be all alone. Except for Sara.
He put the brush back on the dresser and twisted Mamm’s hair into a bun at the nape of her neck. It would make sense to cut her hair short, but she still cared about it and her Kappa too. In another year—maybe in just a few months—she wouldn’t. But he wouldn’t approve a haircut for her then either. It wasn’t what she would want.
“Paul, I’m tired,” Mamm said.
Here it came. She’d been confusing Moses more and more with her little brother Paul. Moses had no memory of him.
“Didn’t we have fun down by the creek when you were little? We were bookends, the oldest and the youngest.”
Moses patted her shoulder. “You were a good big sister. And a good mother.”
“I’m tired,” she said.
“You can nap as soon as I’m done.”
A bird flew by the window and her head jerked to the side. “Oh, Moses. A cardinal.”
Tears sprang into his eyes. She remembered his name. And she’d identified a bird. “Jah, you’re right, on both counts.” He began pinning her bun.
“I need a feeder in that window.”
“What a great idea.” He pinned her white Kapp on her head. “I know just the place to get one.”
He’d skip going to the café and head straight to Paradise Found. He could have the bird feeder in place before she awoke from her morning nap.
He’d stop by the post office and mail the letter to Teresa Schrock on the way.