Chapter 10
10
On Friday Lois was standing under the birch tree when Moses arrived at the shop just after noon. He’d rolled the sleeves of his white shirt to his elbows, but they were pushed up over his biceps now. And his hair curled more at his collar than usual. He glanced down at the mail in his hand and then handed Lois one of the envelopes—the return address was her brother’s. Thankfully his name wasn’t included. If she wrote him back, she needed to use her new post office box address. She didn’t want Moses knowing even a hint of her business. She slipped it into her apron pocket as she said, “Do you have time for a question?”
“I have a couple of minutes.”
“Would you consider having Evelyn come in on Saturdays from eleven to four?” She explained that starting the first of May, Barbara had worked on Saturdays too. “If Evelyn can do the same, it would give me a few hours working with her each week to provide more training.”
After a long pause, he answered, “How about from noon to two?”
“Two hours hardly seems worth it for her,” Lois said.
Moses hesitated again. “That’s fair. Let’s give it a try from eleven to three and reevaluate it in a couple of weeks.”
“I’ll give her a call.” No doubt, in light of her relationship with Mark Miller, Evelyn checked the message machine in her Mammi’s phone shanty several times a day.
After Moses left, Lois read the letter from her brother, which was actually from her sister-in-law. It was full of news about their children—Jonas, Miles, Rebecca, and Lottie. The oldest was twenty-three and the youngest was seventeen. At the end of the letter, Deanna wrote,
Randy had a letter from your bishop, who, as you know, is concerned you don’t have enough supervision. He says you weren’t clear about who you were living with, or not living with, when you first returned to Paradise Township. Nor were you clear with us, implying you would be living with Amy and her husband.
That wasn’t true. She’d implied no such thing to anyone. They’d all assumed.
She continued reading.
Since you are still unmarried, Randy believes you must live under the authority of a male, preferably a relative—which would be him. You need to move back to the family farm and, of course, live under our rules.
Lois folded the letter and put it back into the envelope. What exactly did Deanna mean by their rules? Did that in clude marrying who they wanted her to marry? She missed her nieces and nephews, but not enough to move back. Paradise was home. Big Valley wasn’t and would never be.
Evelyn called back a half hour later, excited to be needed more already. “See you at eleven tomorrow!”
She showed up fifteen minutes early.
By one, Evelyn was running the register entirely on her own. By one thirty, there weren’t any customers in the shop. Lois said she’d take her break and be back in a half hour—but instead of going to her apartment to eat, she scootered to the post office and retrieved her mail. She had one letter—from Menno Stoltzfus. She put the letter in her backpack, fighting her curiosity to read it immediately. But she didn’t have time. She scootered back as fast as she could.
After she tucked the scooter away around the back of the building, she hurried up to her apartment, slipped the letter into her apron pocket, wiped the sweat off her brow, grabbed an apple, and hurried back to the shop.
Moses stood at the counter, chatting with Evelyn. Lois held up her apple and said, “I just grabbed some lunch.” Then she headed to the storeroom.
When she returned, Moses was gone.
“He just stopped by on his way to the café,” Evelyn said. “He said he’ll be back later.”
When the phone rang, Evelyn answered it but after a moment, she handed the receiver to Lois. “It’s for you.”
Lois took the phone. “This is Lois. How may I help you?”
“It’s Scotty. Sorry I took so long to return your call. We went to visit my sister in Virginia. My cell phone stopped working.”
“Moses has some questions about the property line.”
“I thought I left it for him with the files. I must have it here at the house. I’ll bring it in Monday morning.”
“Thank you.” Lois wanted to tell him there wasn’t a hurry, but she knew that wasn’t true.
He asked, “How’s everything going?”
“Good,” she answered. “Busy.”
“Glad to hear it. I’ll see you soon.”
Lois hung up with a pang of sadness. Life had been so easy when Scotty owned the shop.
Evelyn left a half hour later. Lois dusted the merchandise between customers, the letter in her pocket calling to her as she worked. She’d thought of writing Menno but believed it was too forward. Yet, he’d written her. Had she included something in her letter to the group about the birds on the Susquehanna that caught his attention? Perhaps he guessed she was single since all of the other members of the group were part of a couple, except for Mary.
Her heart skipped a beat.
She didn’t think John didn’t like the outdoors—he was a farmer, after all—but he didn’t seem that interested in nature in general. What would it be like to find someone who loved birds as much as she did?
There were no customers in the store and Lois had caught up on her tasks, so she finally took the envelope from her apron pocket.
A customer opened the front door, and Lois casually put the envelope back into her pocket. “Willkumm to Paradise Found,” she said. Customer after customer arrived, browsed, bought, and left. She didn’t have another break until five thirty, when she pulled the letter from Menno Stoltzfus out again. He’d printed the entire letter. It began,
Dear Jane,
I hope you don’t mind me writing to you directly. If so, please don’t feel obliged to write back—or do write back and let me know you do —
“Lois!” The voice came from the back of the building.
She quickly folded the letter and stuffed it into her apron pocket.
“Jah.” She stepped out from behind the counter as Moses entered the shop.
“How did it work out with Evelyn?”
“Wunderbar.” Lois pressed her hand against her pocket, trying to flatten the letter. “She caught on quickly. She’ll be a real asset to the shop.”
He smiled a little. “ Gut. ” And then, as if correcting himself, he said, “Good. We’ll see how she does on her own.”
Lois told him about Scotty’s phone call. “He thinks he has the information you need. He’ll bring it in on Monday.”
“Denki.” He took a step backward. “I’m going to work in my office for the evening. No need to let me know when you leave.”
Lois busied herself with tidying up the shop and waiting on one last customer. She didn’t dare read the rest of Menno’s letter with Moses so close. At six on the dot, she collected the two sandwich boards and then turned the sign to Closed and locked the front door. After she vacuumed, cleaned the restroom, and wiped down the counter, she left through the back, locking the door behind her.
Once she settled on her bed with a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich and an apple, Lois pulled the letter from her pocket again and started from the beginning. When she got to the part where Menno explained why he’d chosen to write to her, she read it twice.
Your account of the eastern bluebird reminded me of one of my fondest memories. I saw a pair of eastern bluebirds, also along the Susquehanna, when I was a boy. The two had a nest in a woodpecker’s hole in an old pine tree. They must have had fledglings in it because they both fluttered around, trying to scare me away. I complied—not because I was scared but because I was enthralled. At a safe distance, I saw them foraging for insects on the ground around the tree.
Anyway, your sighting of the bluebird brought all of that back. Thank you.
I’ll be honest, it also seems—please correct me if I’m wrong—you may be unattached. I’ve been thinking a pen pal would be nice but don’t want to propose corresponding with someone who is courting or, forgive me, married.
Was she attached? She’d gone to a singing and a volleyball tournament with John. Did that mean they were courting? She’d have to ask Amy. John hadn’t stopped by the shop all week, and he hadn’t asked her to the singing the next day, which was fine with her—until she remembered she needed to find a new job and a new place to live.
In the meantime she’d write Menno back.
He ended the letter without sharing anything more about himself, such as what he did in Delaware, where it seemed he lived. That was his return address. Was he a farmer? Or perhaps a craftsman? He hadn’t asked, thankfully, what she did. Perhaps it didn’t matter. He wanted a pen pal. The idea sounded fun.
The next morning at church, Lois avoided John and instead of staying for the meal, scootered to Amy’s house, hoping no one would notice she’d slipped away. Especially Bishop Stephen. It was Amy’s district’s off Sunday.
When she arrived, Amy and Bennie were sitting on their front porch. He was holding the baby and Amy was tying Oliver’s shoes. Deborah was sitting at her feet. Ernie yelled, “It’s Lois!”
Amy waved. As Lois reached the steps, Amy asked, “Did you skip church?”
“No.” Lois leaned the scooter up against the side of the steps. “Just the meal.”
Amy said, “You can eat with us.”
“Denki.” Lois shot her friend a smile. “I was hoping for an invitation.”
“Come on into the kitchen.” Amy opened the screen door. “You can help me get dinner on the table.”
Bennie stood. “Take Maggie in case I have to chase two kids at once.”
Lois took the baby with one arm and then reached down and tousled Ernie’s hair with her free hand.
“May I set the table?” he asked Amy.
“Of course.”
Oliver stomped his feet. “I help!”
“Let’s go check on the baby chicks,” Bennie said to Oliver, quickly sweeping him off his feet. “Come on, Deborah.” He scooped her up too.
As Lois opened the screen door, she said, “Yum.” Roasted chicken. Lois hoped she still remembered how to cook by the time she married. If she ever married.
Amy whispered, “If you rock Maggie for a few minutes, she should go down for a nap.”
Lois did as Amy said. Sure enough, in a couple of minutes Maggie was asleep. Lois tiptoed into Amy and Bennie’s room and gently put her in the bassinet. When she returned Amy was putting the plates on the table and Ernie was putting a fork next to each plate.
“What’s up?” Amy asked Lois, speaking in a normal voice now.
Lois laughed. “Am I that easy to read?”
“Absolutely,” Amy answered.
Lois told her about the letter from Menno. “So I’m not courting John, right? He didn’t ask me to the singing tonight. Do you think it’s all right if I write Menno back?”
“Jah,” Amy answered. “But do you want to be courting John?”
“Honestly?”
Amy nodded.
“I want a home and some sort of work that doesn’t include having to see Moses.” She shrugged. “Would I know by now if I could liebe John Miller?”
Amy rubbed the back of her neck. “Jah. Maybe. Nee.” She laughed. “I don’t know. Only you can figure out if you could love him.”
Lois groaned. “What should I do?”
“Write Menno back. See what happens. But figure out how you feel about John—”
“If he asks me to another—”
“Before you fall for Menno.” Amy gave Ernie a handful of spoons. “Oh, and make sure and meet Menno as soon as you can. You don’t want it to turn into one of those creepy stalker situations, right?”
Lois shoved her hands into her apron pockets. “I’m nowhere near ready to meet him. I haven’t even written him back.”
“Well, don’t let it go too long. Those circle letters can be like social media. People aren’t always who they say they are.”
As Ernie put the last spoon on the table, he asked, “Who is Menno?”
Amy laughed and then put both hands over Ernie’s ears, but Lois answered, saying, “A friend of mine. At least I hope so.”
Lois popped into the store on Monday at noon to check on Evelyn, but the young woman didn’t need any help. “Everything’s fine. The previous owner came by with some documents. I put them in the office,” she said. “Do you think Moses will stop by today?”
“Most likely,” Lois answered. “I’m going into town. I’ll check in when I return.”
The day was bright and warm. The cherry trees swayed and white blossoms floated down as Lois scootered toward the highway. A northern flicker made its loud, rolling rattle. Lois playfully turned her scooter to the right and then the left and did it again. She was feeling a measure of joy. Why?
She turned onto the highway and scootered on toward the park. Ten minutes later as she stood on the edge of the run, watching for the Cooper’s hawk, she thought of Menno again. Perhaps she wouldn’t write to the entire group if she saw the hawk—perhaps she’d save it for Menno.
Five minutes later, the hawk soared above the trees, tilting to the left and then to the right. She smiled. Was he showing off for her?
She sat at a picnic table and pulled her notebook from her backpack, flipped to an empty page, and paused. Should she write Dear Menno or just Menno ? He’d written Dear Jane in the letter to her. She finally settled on Hallo, Menno . She only wrote two paragraphs in her very best penmanship. She wasn’t married or courting and yes, she would like to correspond with him. Then she wrote about the Cooper’s hawk with its black cap and red eyes. Amy had suggested meeting Menno as soon as possible, but she didn’t want to meet him too soon. And she especially didn’t want him showing up at the shop unannounced. But he lived in Delaware. It wasn’t as if he’d come to Paradise looking for her.
She signed the letter Looking forward to your next letter, Jane Weaver . Next she wrote a response to the circle letter she’d received Wednesday, following Teresa’s prompt to write about songbirds, little brown birds in particular. She’d always felt like a little brown bird herself. Extra small. Brown hair. Nondescript features. Little brown birds never got the attention they deserved even though their music made the world go round. She got it—bald eagles and Cooper’s hawks and even red-tailed hawks were powerful and stunning. Of course everyone wanted to see them.
She wrote about how the chipping sparrows perched on the fence posts near the house and serenaded her while she worked in the kitchen garden. It was a memory from eight years ago, but it would do. Next she sent a short note to her brother to inform him she had a new mailing address. She didn’t acknowledge Deanna’s letter nor did she give a reason for having a PO box. The less information she shared with him, the better. After she addressed and put stamps on all three envelopes, she scootered back to the post office and mailed the letters.
The week sped by. Each day, Lois would close the shop for a half hour and check her mailbox at the Paradise post office. Only Randy, Deanna, Teresa, and Menno would use the address. She didn’t want another letter from Deanna, but a letter from Menno would make her day. None arrived.
Friday, Bishop Stephen came into the shop. Lois put on her cheerful face and said, “Bishop Stephen! Willkumm!”
He took off his straw hat and said, “We missed you last Sunday.”
“I was at the service,” she said. “I left before the meal.”
“Oh.”
“What can I help you with?” Lois asked.
“I’m looking for a Mother’s Day card. For my Mamm.”
Lois directed him to the cards. “The first rack is all Mother’s Day cards.”
“Denki,” he said. A few minutes later he approached the counter empty-handed. “Do you mind if I ask why you didn’t stay for the meal last Sunday?”
She didn’t want to lie and say she was ill. “I didn’t feel up to it.”
“Meaning?”
“I had dinner with Amy and Bennie and their family.”
“Because?”
Lois shrugged.
“Were you feeling lonely? As if you wanted to be with a family?”
Lois kept her face neutral.
“Because I’d take that as a sign you should be with your family.”
Lois rubbed her brow, careful not to bump her Kapp, just as Moses stepped into the shop. “Stephen,” he said. “It’s good to see you.”
Bishop Stephen frowned. “Moses. I heard you bought this place.”
“You heard correctly.”
“It seems a little worldly, doesn’t it, to spend your inheritance on a gift shop?”
Moses smiled wryly. “It’s good to see you too, Stephen.” He nodded at Lois and said, “I’ll be in the office if you need me.”
Lois gave him a nod of acknowledgment. Had Moses Lantz come to her rescue? It was hard to believe.
Bishop Stephen left without buying anything, and Lois busied herself with restocking the card racks. A few of the Amish who shopped at Paradise Found bought Mother’s Day cards, but it was more likely most would make them rather than buy them. Lois always used to make her parents cards. And she would make them gifts—often something that had to do with birds, such as a calendar with a drawing of a different bird for each month. Those gifts were never well-done, but her parents always cherished them.
An hour later, Moses appeared in the shop again and watched as she waited on a customer. After she finished the transaction and the customer left, Moses was still standing by the birch tree.
“May I help you?” she asked.
“I wanted to talk about the front window display. It needs to be updated.”
“I agree,” Lois said. “I’ll come in Monday morning before we open.”
“I don’t want to pay you overtime.”
Lois crossed her arms. “I know.”
“It would have been good to update the window before Mother’s Day.”
She nearly laughed. He should have said something earlier—it was too late for that now. There was a tea set, a toy bunny, and several “potted” silk tulip bouquets in the current display. Lois had designed it to cover both Easter and Mother’s Day, but perhaps she should have taken the bunny out. Even a teddy bear would work better. She’d simply change it out and call it good for now.
She used to do the window displays on her off time for Scotty, and she’d planned to do it on Monday without recording her hours—but she wouldn’t tell Moses that. Lois turned away. Why was he meddling in the operation of the gift shop? She knew what she was doing.
The door buzzed. Lois tried to plaster a smile on her face as she turned toward it.
“Isabelle.” She greeted her friend with a hug.
Moses walked—slinked—back toward the office.
“How’s it going?” Isabelle asked.
“I wish you could have bought the store.” Lois kept her voice low.
Isabelle patted Lois’s hand. “So do I.”
After purchasing a candle for a friend with an upcoming birthday, Isabelle said, “I’ll see you soon.”
Lois waved as Isabelle left, resisting the urge to resent Moses, trying not to want him to fail at owning the store. If he failed, then she had failed. Besides, it would go against her faith to try to sabotage his business. Or pray that he would fail.
She felt unsettled. She needed to think about what she had to look forward to. Mother’s Day—not. She shuddered.
A second letter from Menno. That was what she would look forward to.