The Shop Down the Lane (Letters from Lancaster County #1)

Chapter 1

1

A deep voice at the back of the shop startled Lois. She stumbled off the step stool under the birch tree display, the birdhouse still in her hand. A deep and familiar voice, although she couldn’t place it.

She climbed back up and hung the birdhouse next to a crocheted bluebird as the door buzzed. She grabbed the stool, stashed it under the counter, adjusted her Kapp , and moved toward the front of the store. It was the third Friday in April. Tourist season never stopped in Lancaster County, but it was beginning to take off for the summer peak.

“ Willkumm to Paradise Found.” Lois smiled at the middle-aged Englisch couple.

“What a darling shop.” The woman glanced around as she spoke. “I love the play on words. Paradise Found—in Paradise, Pennsylvania.” She smiled, showing her laugh lines. “Cute.” She turned from the antique iron rack’s display of kitchen towels adorned with birds to the birdhouses.

“These are adorable.”

“Aren’t they?” Lois pointed to the hummingbird feeders made of copper and stained glass. “These are big sellers too.” She foresaw a sale or two in her near future.

Lois called it right, although it took a half hour for the woman to browse through the shop and make her selections. Five other customers came in during that time. As Lois waited on them, she kept listening for the familiar voice. She guessed Scotty Harris, the owner of the shop, had a visitor, and they had stepped into the back room. Perhaps the voice simply sounded familiar.

When the last customer left, she pulled her father’s watch from her apron pocket. An hour until closing. The door buzzed again.

On cue, Lois stepped out from behind the counter to greet the customer. Except it wasn’t a customer. “John. What are you doing here?”

“ Guder Nummidag .” John Miller swept his hat off his head and grinned. “I came to see you.”

She returned the smile, although a little dubiously. John was twenty-one, four years younger than she. He came by the store quite often. He was the last of six sons, and his Dat planned to turn over the family farm to him in a few years. He was cute with his wide smile, thick eyebrows, and gray eyes. Plus, he had broad shoulders and a muscular build. And, more importantly, he was caring. And kind of ... simple. But not in a bad way. In an uncomplicated way.

“How’s the birding going?”

“ Gut .” She clasped her hands together. “How did you know I bird?”

“I saw you at the park last week with your bins.”

That was birding slang for binoculars. She tilted her head. “Do you bird?”

He laughed. “Oh no.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t taken John for a birder, although it was common among the Amish. Personally, she tried not to be obvious about her bird obsession. In fact, she did her best to hide it, not taking her binoculars from her backpack until she was at her birding destination. Her brother didn’t think it an appealing look for someone who needed to find a husband. Thankfully, the bird-themed items in the shop were top sellers. She ordered them not because she liked them but because they brought in money, which ensured she had a job. “I don’t bird much,” Lois said. At least not as much as she wished she could.

“That’s good to hear.”

Her heart fell. Not only did he not bird, but he wasn’t positive about it either.

John cleared his throat, wiped his palms on his pants, and asked, “Would you go to the singing on Sunday at our place with me? Mark and a girl he’s dating plan to go too.” He spoke quickly. “We can double date. We’ll pick you up at five after we pick up Evelyn.”

Lois tilted her head again. Was John Miller actually asking her out? She stepped to the counter and repositioned a stack of gift bags. Jah , she was stalling. Just for a moment.

Lois raised her head and met John’s gaze. “ Denki ,” she said. “May I tell you Sunday at church?”

He frowned. “I guess so.” Perhaps she should tell him no now, so he could invite someone else. But what if he intended to court her? Could she be interested in John? She wasn’t sure. She needed more time to decide before she went on a date with him.

He took a step backward, raised his hat a little, and waved with his free hand. “See you at church.”

She nodded. “See you then.”

As Lois stood on the step stool again, this time to dust the hummingbird feeders to the left of the register, she heard the voices of Scotty and the other man, this time in the office. They must have slipped in while Lois chatted with John. Again, the other voice sounded familiar. Perhaps one of the vendors who regularly came into the store had stopped by.

The front door buzzed, redirecting her attention again. She forced herself to smile to keep from groaning as she climbed down from the stool. Bishop Stephen Mast. She hoped he wouldn’t bring up her marital status, one of his favorite topics of conversation since he’d found out she was living above the shop—as she’d been doing for the last two years—instead of with her best friend, Amy, and her family, as the bishop had been assuming.

“Lois!” Why did he sound surprised? “How are you doing today?”

“Fine,” she answered. “How are you?”

“ Gut . I’m looking for a birthday gift for Dorcas. Do you have any ideas?”

“What does she need? Personal items?”

He gave her a blank stare.

“Lotions? Soaps?”

He shook his head. “ Nee . She makes her own. What are some other options?”

“Household items.” She pointed to the hand towels.

He shook his head again.

Lois pointed to the blocks of wood that read Peace , Hope , Faith , and Family.

He wrinkled his nose.

“We also have tablecloths and cloth napkins.” She turned toward the birdhouses. “And we have items for the yard. Birdhouses. Garden art.” She pointed at the blown-glass balls and metal sculptures. “Packets of wildflower seeds.”

“So many choices.” He stepped toward the birch tree and stared at a crocheted male cardinal. He spoke as he shifted his gaze to a birdhouse. “I saw John Miller heading away from here. Did he stop by today?”

“Jah.” Lois’s face grew warm.

“ Gut, gut .” Stephen stepped over to the tablecloths and touched a gingham-checkered one. “We’ve had a couple of long conversations.” He picked up a cloth napkin. “John is a good man. Very mature for his age. And ready to marry.”

Lois stayed quiet.

Stephen turned toward her. “Any more thought to going back to Big Valley?”

She nodded. “I’m putting quite a bit of prayer into it.” Prayer about how to keep from ever having to return to where her brother lived, over a hundred miles from Paradise.

“ Gut , gut ,” he said again and gave her an awkward nod. “I’ll put more thought into a gift for Dorcas. Perhaps I’ll be back. See you Sunday.”

“Jah.” Lois forced a smile. She feared it appeared halfhearted. “See you then.”

After Stephen left the shop, Lois walked to the front door and peeked out the window. The bishop climbed into his buggy. Why was he so determined to have her go back to Big Valley and live with her brother and his family? Why, when she belonged to a community of believers, did he want her to be under the authority of a man? Specifically, her brother.

Lois’s church district had recently grown so large that it split in two. She stayed in the original, but Amy and her husband, Bennie, were assigned to the new one because of the location of their farm. That was when Bishop Stephen realized Lois lived in the apartment above the shop.

Bishop Stephen waved at someone. Were Scotty and whoever he was with outside again?

Stephen pulled his buggy around, and Lois stepped back from the window. Clearly, Stephen thought John Miller would be a catch for her. And he was right. He would be. She would be well taken care of. But would he love her the way her father had loved her mother? Her parents never had much money, but they always had a lot of love.

Perhaps they had spoiled Lois for marrying, as her brother claimed.

She turned her attention to tidying the shelves. She guessed John Miller wanted to marry soon. And Lois needed to marry. The bishop was intent on her not living alone.

The door buzzed again. This time Scotty entered the shop with a serious expression on his face. He cleared his throat as he approached Lois. “I need to talk to you about something.”

Alarmed, she stumbled backward. Had the books been off the day before? Had she ordered too many birdhouses? Not enough greeting cards?

He ran his hand through his gray hair. “I’ve had a couple of offers on the store.”

Lois gasped. “What?”

“Barb wants me to retire. This time for good.”

Lois felt ill. “What are you talking about?”

“We hope to be in Florida by October.”

Lois put her hand to her chest. “You’re kidding, right?”

He shook his head.

She placed her free hand on the shelf to steady herself. “What about the farm?”

“We’ll be selling it too.” His expression turned sympathetic for a moment and then, with a bit of a quiver in his voice, he said, “I’ve been talking with a prospective buyer. I’ve told this person I’ll only sell the shop if he promises to keep you on and let you continue to live in the apartment.”

Lois opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

“I wanted to tell you, so you wouldn’t be surprised.” He stepped behind the counter and opened the cash register. He held up a key. “I need to show Moses the shed.”

She sputtered, “Moses?”

“Yes. Moses Lantz.” Scotty gave her a questioning look. “Do you know him?”

Lois put her hand over her mouth. She had —she didn’t anymore. But she did know he was the last person in the world she wanted to buy Paradise Found.

After Scotty strode out the door, Lois moved to the back window and craned her neck to get a view of the shed. A giant of a man, dressed Mennonite, stood at the open door. He held his straw hat in his hand. He was clean shaven—but not all married Mennonite men wore beards like married Amishmen did. She squinted.

She had last been in the same vicinity as Moses Lantz nearly five years ago at a party along the Susquehanna River, one of her favorite birding spots, the week before Amy married. Moses, at twenty years old, was tall then, at least six foot four—and he appeared even taller now. Had he grown another inch? Then again, at only five foot two, everyone appeared tall to her.

Moses had always been tall. On Lois’s first day at the Paradise one-room school, they’d both been in the third grade. She’d taken him to be in the sixth grade, while he’d assumed she was in the first.

Now he tipped his head back, making his thick golden hair flop against his neck, and watched the tree towering over the shed. There’d been a red-tailed hawk nest in the crotch of the loblolly pine at the edge of the woods. Had the birds returned? She had hoped they would.

Amy had been baptized a year before she married. Lois was baptized after she moved to Big Valley to live with her brother and his family. But she’d been miserable there and moved back to Paradise two years ago.

Scotty and Barbara had welcomed her back from Big Valley, given her a promotion and a raise, and allowed her to live in the apartment again, where she’d once lived with her mother. There was no way a new buyer would keep a commitment to Scotty to retain her as an employee. Especially not Moses Lantz.

Since Lois had returned from Big Valley, she hadn’t seen Moses once. Nor had she asked anyone—Amy specifically—where he’d gone. In fact, she’d told Amy five years ago she didn’t wany any updates on Moses at all.

She knew, obviously, he didn’t attend church in the nearby Amish districts. She’d guessed he attended somewhere else, but now it appeared he’d joined the Mennonites.

Lois returned to the counter and stared at the collage of painted buntings. She’d almost let Moses Lantz ruin her love of buntings, the birds that had sparked her interest in bird ing, when he had called her Baby Bunting in the fourth grade. But her father talked her out of it. Dat had asked, “Why would you let Moses take something you love from you?”

Why, indeed? Now she needed to prevent him from taking Paradise Found and her apartment. She was stronger than she used to be. But was she stronger than Moses Lantz?

Fifteen minutes later, Lois walked up the lane to the mailbox on the highway. Old ornamental cherry trees with gnarly trunks lined the lane. A chipping sparrow sat on the low branch of the third tree, singing. Other birds, hidden in the trees, added to the song. Lois smiled at the sparrow, shading her eyes. The bird hopped to the next branch and flew farther up the tree. Lois peered up into the fluffy white blooms of the tree but couldn’t find a nest. However, in the winter, abandoned nests filled the bare branches of the trees.

She focused on the highway ahead. The clouds from earlier had disappeared, and the day had grown warm, the warmest of the year so far. She retrieved the mail and turned back toward the shop and scanned the property. The pink and orange tulips bloomed in the flower beds in the front of the shop. And the grassy area around the back and side of the shop had grown in and was an emerald green, the perfect shade of spring.

The shed door was open. She headed back to the shop, leafing through the mail as she walked. Three bills for Scotty and a letter for her from Amy. Even though Amy lived only a few miles from the shop, she sometimes mailed a letter. She had four kinner , four and under. A letter could often travel faster than Amy.

Lois!

I found a circle letter perfect for you—one about birding. I’ve enclosed the info. Just write the facilitator and tell her you’re interested. Maybe you’ll meet someone—besides more birds, haha.

Lois laughed—she adored Amy—and glanced at the second page. The woman’s name was Teresa Schrock, and she lived in West Hempfield Township, across the county. At the top of the information letter, Teresa had written with exceptional neatness:

Birding connects us to the Creator, educates us about nature, and builds community. I invite you to join the Flight of Doves Plain Circle Letter, facilitated by me.

Lois found Teresa likable, along with the name of her birding community. A flock of doves was called a flight , and doves were birds of peace, fitting for a Plain group striving to follow Christ’s teachings.

As interesting as the circle letter sounded, she forced Amy’s letter and Teresa’s sheet of information back into the envelope and slipped it into her apron pocket. She had no desire to join a circle letter. After she’d moved back to Big Valley, Amy, three other friends from their days as scholars, and Lois started one. By the time the letter traveled from one member, who wrote a page, to the next, who wrote another, to the next, the whole process became painfully slow. How would it work with birding? By the time a letter came around, it would be the next season—or worse, the next year.

When she stepped back into the shop, Scotty and Moses were standing by the birch tree, looking at the birdhouses and birds.

Moses, due to his arrogance and lack of self-awareness, most likely didn’t realize he was an accidental —a bird who showed up where he shouldn’t have. Like a mangrove cuckoo in Pennsylvania.

Scotty turned. “Lois.” He stepped toward her, and she handed him the envelopes. Scotty took them and motioned toward Moses. “Moses, this is Lois Yoder. Lois, Moses Lantz.”

“Hallo,” Lois said, keeping her voice as neutral as possible. She extended her hand.

He stepped forward as if he’d never seen her before in his life. Either he was an excellent actor or a complete jerk. He was definitely a strange bird. His grip was firm and professional, as if they really were meeting for the first time.

In his deep voice, Moses said, “I’m pleased to meet you.” She forced herself not to roll her eyes.

He shifted his gaze past her to the wall and dropped her hand and stepped around her. She turned. He headed toward the bunting collage, perhaps relieved to have a distraction. “I have to have this.” Lois suppressed a groan. Not the painted bunting collage.

Moses took his wallet from the pocket of his jacket. “I’ll buy it now.”