As Leah untied the gelding and climbed into the buggy,
she caught the heady scent of honeysuckle—her favorite
flower and one of the few that didn’t cause a fit of
sneezing. She inhaled deeply to savor the fragrance on the
perfect spring day. The cloudless blue sky, plenty of
sunshine, and not even a trace of humidity added to her
good mood. Eighteen-year-old Leah Miller was a successful
businesswoman—people came from all around the county to buy
her pies. They could purchase a slice in the basement
cafeteria of the auction barn or a whole pie in the ground
floor grocery store.
For the past four years she had tweaked her recipes
until every one of them was a crowd-pleaser. Lately, the
cafeteria manager had her baking even the popular standbys
like Dutch Apple, peach, and coconut cream while still
inventing new concoctions to try out on the clientele.
Okay, maybe the red current pie and the pineapple cream
didn’t exactly have folks begging for seconds, but Leah had
found her calling in life. Her sister, Emma, and Aunt
Hannah had their smelly, wool-producing sheep, while mamm
enjoyed sewing on her good days, but Leah’s place was in
the kitchen. Ten bushels of beets to blanch and can, along
with twenty baskets of apples to peel, core, and mince into
applesauce? No problem. She would make short work of the
task, no matter how large.
And the farther she stayed away from dander-ridden
critters or pollen-laden meadows the better. Now that her
mother took new medications for her arthritis, the two of
them could handle the household tasks, despite the fact
Emma had married and moved out. Her sister hadn’t been much
help in the kitchen anyway. Leah still found enough time to
bake twelve to fifteen pies each week. Profits on the sales
had been slow in coming. It had taken awhile to find
reasonably priced suppliers for flour, sugar, butter and
items not grown on their farm. But before long, she’d
replaced her coffee can of cash with an account at the
bank. With her own savings passbook, commercial grade
baking pans, and a reputation for the best-tasting pies in
the Mount Hope auction barn, life was good. It was so
satisfying she often had to remind herself not to grow too
proud or bigheaded.
As Leah left the cafeteria with her payment tucked in
her purse, she noticed a "road closed" detour sign had been
put up on the route she usually took home. The highway
patrol often closed stretches of road when oversized
farming machinery were being moved to new locations. But
with weather as nice as this, she didn’t even lift an
eyebrow. Slapping the reins against the horse’s back, she
turned down the township road running diagonally from town
that would eventually take her the roundabout way home.
Leah was mentally listing the chores she needed to do
before supper when the sound of heavy construction grabbed
her attention.
"Whoa," she called to Jack. As she focused on the
commotion she began to cough and sneeze. Bulldozers had
raised a thick cloud of dust in the partially paved parking
lot. Backhoes were loading debris into dump trucks while
workers in hardhats scurried around picking up tools and
loading sawhorses into pickups. They appeared to have
finished for the day and were cleaning up the site.
"The old train cars," she murmured to the family buggy
horse. The gelding picked up his ears, but offered no
comment. Leah, too, was struck speechless. She stared at
the once ramshackle passenger car and rusty caboose she’d
admired nearly four years ago. It had been her sister’s
first buggy ride since her accident. Leah had entertained
such lofty dreams back then, but had soon forgotten her
impractical notions. That day seemed so long ago. Emma had
married James more than two years ago and moved to his
family’s farm in Charm. She now rode around in his new
buggy whenever the occasion demanded without anxiety.
Except for a slight limp, the accident that nearly cost
Emma her life had become a distant memory. And Leah had
been so busy around the house with her pie baking, she’d
forgotten about the abandoned train cars at the edge of
town.
But someone else had recognized potential among the knee-
high weeds and broken bottles. A person with vision—and
deep pockets—had turned the rundown relic into a vision of
bright enamel paint, new wooden shutters and flowerboxes of
red geraniums and white petunias. The window glass had been
replaced and lacy curtains fluttered in the breeze. A
trellis of climbing morning glories flanked the entryway
while a neon-lit sign proclaimed the obvious: Diner.
It was as though they had read my mind…but I certainly
would’ve picked a more imaginative name.
A snort from Jack broke her concentration. He wanted the
bucket of oats waiting at home, but Leah needed to see more
of the work-in-progress. She parked at the edge of the
property and tied the reins to a fencepost. As she stared
at the restaurant, anticipation coursed through her veins
as if the establishment were hers. After the last workers
left the lot, honking horns and hollering goodbyes, Leah
inched closer until she stood in front of the shiny front
door. Unfortunately, the train cars had been elevated with
concrete piers, making peaking into windows impossible.
She noticed only two vehicles remained in the parking
lot as she crept around to the back of the train. No fancy
shutters or pretty flowers decorated this side, but a large
shipping container had been left underneath one window.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Leah climbed onto the crate
and peered into the passenger car, willing herself not to
sneeze from the dust.
Two women in long pastel dresses and small white prayer
kapps stood facing each other. Leah knew their style of
dress to be Mennonite. Both looked to be in their early
thirties and neither woman was smiling.
"No, April," said the taller of the two. "I told you
yesterday I couldn’t stay late today. Paul wants his supper
on time for a change, and I won’t have him watching the
kids after school. That’s my job." She lifted her chin
defiantly.
"But we’re supposed to open in three days. I can’t
unpack and wash everything by myself. I still need to write
up my food order and start shopping. How can I bring
supplies into such chaos?" Her hand gestured at the
overflowing boxes of dishes and glassware on the floor.
Desperation to the point of hysteria edged her words. "You
promised to help me when I signed the lease."
The taller woman released a sigh commensurate with
bearing the weight of the world. "I have helped you, every
single day but the Lord’s day. My house is a mess; the
laundry sits in piles; I still don’t have all my garden
seeds planted; and Paul is tired of his dinner being late."
"Paul’s tired?" The one called April wailed. "I haven’t
slept more than four hours a night since the remodeling
began. My vegetable patch is still buried beneath a
groundcover of weeds and last year’s leaves. And my husband
barely speaks to me." Her voice rose as shrill as a hawk’s
cry.
Leah knew better than to eavesdrop on their argument,
but if she climbed down now she might be discovered. The
women had moved closer to the open window as they faced off
like circling barnyard roosters. She tried not to breathe
deeply as dust settled in the parking lot.
"This was your bright idea, not mine!" the tall one
snapped. "I said I would lend a hand and I have, but I made
no lifetime commitment to your pipedream. I doubt very much
Amish and Mennonite people will be flocking here in droves.
Most folk pack a cooler when they come to town on business
to save money. And if you price your menu too cheaply,
you’ll lose every cent of the money dad loaned for start-up
capital."
The shorter woman crossed her arms over her wrinkled
dress. "Then I would think you’d be more willing to protect
his investment."
"I have painted and caulked, scraped and sanded. I’ve
sewn curtains and donated hours of my time. I helped you
lift and carry in those heavy booths till my back nearly
broke. And I’ve encouraged you, despite my opinion you were
biting off more than you could chew." A hint of sympathy
crept into her voice.
Time seemed to suspend as Leah felt a wave of heat
radiating from the diner’s interior.
"I know you have and I am truly grateful. If I live to
be a hundred years old, I’ll still be in your debt. But
can’t you stay a few more weeks till I’m up and running?
Maybe until the word spreads that I’m open for business?"
She placed a hand tentatively on her sister’s arm.
Even Leah, knowing nothing about these women beyond this
conversation, knew asking for a few more "weeks" was a bad
idea.
Any compassion in the sister’s face drained away. As
though plucking a piece of lint from her skirt, she removed
April’s hand. "You will never change, not as long as people
keep enabling you. I will stay a couple more days to help
you open, but that’s it. After that, you’ll not get another
minute of my time. You must sink or swim on your own. And
if you go belly-up, maybe dad will stop bankrolling your
hair-brained schemes and throwing away his money." She
looked like she might say more, but at that moment, Leah’s
luck ran out.
The slat-board packing crate, supporting her one-hundred-
twenty-pounds, gave way with a splintering crash. Leah
tried to grab the windowsill but she toppled backwards,
landing on her backside in the weeds without an ounce of
dignity.
"Oh, great," a voice carried through the open
window. "Sounds like a family of rats has moved in before
your first customer arrives. I’m going home!" The sound of
her words faded until the front door slammed with finality.
As Leah clumsily rose to her feet and brushed off her
clothes, she heard a squeaky screen being raised above her
head. "What happened? What are you doing out there?" A
woman’s head appeared in the opening.
Two honest, direct questions, yet Leah was stymied. "Ah,
well," she stammered and then opted for the truth. "I
spotted this rundown train years ago and noticed something
going on today. I was curious so I decided to peek inside,
not knowing anybody was still here." She shook the
remaining dead leaves from her skirt. "I thought everyone
had gone home. Sorry, I didn’t mean to spy on you." Shame
brought a rush of color into her face.
The woman’s perplexed expression changed into a
grin. "No harm done. My sister and I argue all the time,
business as usual. Come inside and have a look. See if you
like what I’ve done." She glanced down at the broken
crate. "Only don’t trip over anything. I don’t have my
insurance policy yet." She lowered the screen and closed
the window.
Leah had no choice but to walk around the train, feeling
sheepish.
In a moment, the front door was flung open. "Come in.
Don’t by shy. I’m April Lambright and this is my diner.
Well, it’s mine along with the bank and my landlord, but
the business is all mine." Her dazzling smile turned her
rather plain features pretty.
Leah stepped inside to cluttered disarray. Booths had
been installed, but only half the tables had been set on
their pedestals. Boxes, crates and shopping bags were
everywhere, while the light fixtures hung at odd angles on
their electrical cords. An eight-burner commercial stove
blocked the doorway to the caboose. Piles of constructions
debris made walking anywhere hazardous. But Leah Miller
fell in love with the place. A new Terracotta tile floor
had been installed; the walls painted sunny yellow; and an
old-fashioned counter lined one wall with bright red
upholstered stools. When restoration was complete, it would
look modern yet nostalgic at the same time.
"Oh my goodness," she whispered in awe.
"Is that a good ‘oh-my-goodness’ or a bad?" April asked,
studying her curiously. "And do you have a name, young
lady?"
Leah snapped back from her perusal. "Definitely a good,
ma’am. And I’m Leah Miller from Winesburg. Pleased to meet
you."
"Since I spotted your buggy parked outside, I didn’t
suppose you were from Cincinnati." She laughed with good
humor. "Are you Old Order?"
Leah felt her cheeks flush. "Jah, I’m Old Order, my daed
is deacon of our district." She bent down to stack some
spilled canned goods. "I always thought this place would
make a great restaurant. When I was fourteen, I wanted to
buy it myself." She met April’s gaze, waiting to be laughed
at. That was the reaction she’d usually received.
However, the woman merely nodded. "Do you like to cook?
And bake? Most Amish gals do. I’m Mennonite if you haven’t
figured that out. And that woman who stormed out of here is
my sister, May."
"I love cooking! I bake most of the pies and pastries
for the cafeteria in Mount Hope. They order at least a
dozen every week." Leah hoped that didn’t sound too
prideful, but it was the truth.
April’s eyes grew round as saucers. "You bake those
pies? Even the chocolate mousse cream and the Dutch apple
walnut?" She stared at Leah as though waiting for a denial.
"Yes, ma’am. I made both of those recipes up. Have you
tried them?"
"Many times, and my skirts fit tighter because of you,
but stop calling me ma’am. I’m April. Ma’am makes me feel
ancient, and I’m only twenty-eight. How old are you, Leah
Miller?"
"Eighteen," she answered as a dozen ideas darted through
her head like minnows in a shallow stream. Even though the
interior of the diner was growing oppressively hot and her
scalp itched beneath her kapp, Leah stared at the
restaurant owner with fascination.
April seemed to be pondering a conundrum as her forehead
scrunched into creases and folds. "As you probably
overheard, May has been my reluctant assistant, and she’s
putting in her resignation after opening day." She shook
her head sorrowfully. "Can’t say I blame her. If I had
known how much work and how expensive it would be to turn
this dump into a diner, I never would’ve signed the lease
and borrowed so much money. She’s right—I bit off more than
I can chew." She lowered herself to a stepstool and then
cradled her chin with her hands. "I can’t get this place
shipshape by myself and I already paid for a newspaper ad
advertising my grand opening."
Leah, with boundless energy, spoke without
hesitation. "I’ll be happy to help you set things up, until
you can find a replacement. I’ll check with my mother, but
I’m sure she can spare me for a few days."
April jumped to her feet. "That is wonderful! But what
about you?"
"What about me?" Leah asked, confused.
"Why don’t I hire you to replace my sister? I know lots
of Amish girls work before they get married. Believe me,
May’s pies can’t hold a candle to yours." Her face blushed
a bright pink. "But please don’t ever repeat that."
"Hire me to do what? Clean up the place at closing
time?" she thought she might faint on the spot.
Maybe because of the train’s stuffy interior or all the
dusty boxes, but Leah suddenly felt dizzy and lightheaded.
The room began to tilt to the left. "April, could we step
outside? It’s hard to breathe with the windows closed."
"Of course, you look white as snow." April grabbed her
arm and led her down the steps.
Leah inhaled and exhaled several deep breaths. "Oh,
that’s better."
"I’d like to hire you as my assistant," April
continued. "To do whatever needs doing—cooking, serving the
lunch counter, and cleaning up when we’re done. We would
split duties down the middle." Her smile was so wide it
revealed a gold-capped back molar.
In the fresh air and sunshine, Leah’s head cleared as
her excitement grew with leaps and bounds. "Jah, I’d love
to work here very much! It would be my dream come true, but
I can’t accept the offer until I talk to my parents."
The owner shrugged. "No problem. Give it some thought
and talk to your folks. If you decide to join me, let me
know either tomorrow or the day after. Then we can set up a
schedule for you."
"I won’t work on the Sabbath," Leah said.
"Of course not. We’re closed on Sundays."
"And no Mondays, since my mamm can’t manage the laundry
without me because of her arthritis."
"We’ll be closed that day too, since not many people
come to town on Mondays. Anyway, I’ve got my own chores at
home with a husband and kids to look after." April rocked
back on her heels, deep in thought. "How ‘bout you work
Wednesdays through Saturdays here at the diner. Then you’ll
be off on Sunday and Monday. I can manage Tuesdays by
myself—all the action is in Farmerstown at the livestock
sale. On Tuesdays, I’ll pay you to stay home baking the
bread, pies, cakes and cookies we’ll need for the week. We
will open at seven for breakfast and close at after lunch—
no supper. People usually start for home by three o’clock,
and the Englischers can eat at the big tourist spot up the
road."
Leah felt she might levitate off the floor. Impetuously,
she threw her arms around April and squeezed, not
considering proper boss/employee behavior. "Danki, that
sounds perfect! I’ll be back as soon as my folks give their
permission." She released the hug.
April patted Leah’s shoulder, laughing. "My, goodness.
You’re certainly more enthusiastic than my sister, May, had
been."
"April and May? What happened to June?" Leah asked.
"She lives in Baltic with her husband and five children.
We’ve got a brother named August, too. We assumed Mom had
spent too much time staring at the wall calendar while
carrying us."
Leah wrapped her arms around herself. She knew she was
going to like this woman. "We don’t have a phone, so if
it’s all right with you, I’ll just show up if they say I
can." She took a step backward, eager to be on her way home.
April offered her hand to shake. "Just showing up sounds
fine with me. I still remember that slice of Dutch apple-
walnut pie I tasted, and that must’ve been over a year ago.
I’m glad you were nosey enough to peek in my window. Today
is my lucky day."
Blushing, Leah shook the outstretched hand and murmured
a quick goodbye. She ran to her buggy and almost broke the
reins trying to get them off the post. She couldn’t wait to
put the task of asking her parents behind her.
It was a good thing Jack knew all possible routes home,
since Leah’s mind was already swimming with favorite
recipes, lists of ingredients, and how to approach her
father with the opportunity of a lifetime.
* * * * *
There was nothing quite like the first warm day in
April, with sunshine so bright it hurt your eyes, a cool
breeze tickling the back of your neck and birds singing
from the treetops. Clover in the pasture was coming up
thick and green for his favorite friends. Black flies would
soon hatch to devil man and beast alike, but today there
wasn’t a single thing to swat at. Matthew Miller could get
used to days like these after the overcast skies of March.
His teacher had once read a poem to the class about spring,
but never being much of a bookworm he’d forgotten all but
the pleasant memory. At nineteen, Matthew was living
exactly the life he had planned.
His bruder, Henry, had finished school and possessed few
aspirations other than farming. Henry loved to plow and
disk even the hardest packed soil. He would plant seeds
during downpours, round up cattle in a blizzard, and could
pick sweet corn until his fingers nearly wore down to the
knuckles. After chores, he would curl up in the hammock
with a glass of cider and a book about pirates or Civil War
generals whenever Pa wasn’t looking. That boy loved to read.
Matthew’s vocation and joy in life was four-legged and
bushy-tailed, with long dark eyelashes and grass-stained
teeth. Horses—from miniature ponies to Belgian draft horses—
he loved them all. He’d once seen Clydesdales in a TV beer
commercial at the home of their English neighbors. He had
been so mesmerized, Mr. Lee copied the commercial into this
black machine and Matthew had watched it over and over that
summer he helped Mr. Lee paint his house.
Now he didn’t have to sneak watching somebody’s TV to
see all the different breeds. His job at Macintosh Farm
gave him access to fancy riding horses for rich Englischers
like Arabians, Saddlebreds, and Tennessee Walkers. He
worked with racing Quarter horses, Kentucky-born
Thoroughbreds, and Standardbreds, the harness racing
trotters. Amish folk often bought this breed for their
buggies once their racetrack days were finished. Four years
ago, Mr. Macintosh had hired him on the spot after a short
demonstration of his handling and bareback riding. Mr. Mac
had said he had the "gift"—an ability to get inside a
horse’s head and get them to do your bidding without
breaking their spirit. He didn’t know much about that; he
just knew the day he was promoted from exercise boy to
assistant trainer had been the happiest of his life.
And it would remain his happiest day forever, since he
couldn’t seem to summon enough courage to take Martha
Hostetler home from a Sunday singing. His big sister said
if he weren’t careful he would end up an old man with
females named Quicksilver, Quiche, and Juniper for his sole
company. Emma was probably right, but who wanted to court
someone with red freckles and bright yellow hair? As a
child, the only place he could hide was among bales of
straw in the barn.
At least he now did more important things at work than
muck stalls, clean water troughs, and measure grain into
feed buckets. He trained horses on the lunge rope,
exercised some around the track, and assisted with several
foalings. It was such joy to watch God’s hand at work. So
wobbly and weak at birth, the colt would quickly gain a
thousand pounds of strength and energy within the first two
years. He used to fantasize about becoming a jockey and
riding a thoroughbred in a real, all-out race. But since he
weighed one hundred seventy pounds, some owners didn’t want
him astride even for training.
"Hey, Matty!" A voice pierced his reverie. "Stop
daydreaming and give me a hand," yelled Jeff Andrews, the
trainer he apprenticed under.
"I’ll finish filling the stanchions and be right there,"
Matthew called.
At least the guy no longer referred to him as "Amish-
boy. It had been a long road to earn his respect. Andrews
had few friends at Macintosh Farms but many admirers. He
knew his stuff. But when Matthew changed a few balky riding
horses into mounts tame enough for kids, Andrews had
dropped the moniker and started calling him Matty. Now if
he would just stop knocking my hat off.
Such behavior happened only when Mr. Mac wasn’t nearby.
The stable owner respected Amish people and tolerated no
foul language, beer drinking, or rowdy behavior anywhere on
his property. Jeff Andrews was slowly coming around, so
Matthew secured the gate behind him and hurried to catch
up. The trainer had headed into the Quarter horse barn…one
of his special places.
"What should I do?" he asked when he reached Andrew’s
side.
"The couple that owns the yearling in stall twelve is
driving up from Columbus tomorrow to see how things are
progressing." Jeff spoke softly, not with his usual loud
bluster. "Things are going right fine, but that colt might
have pulled a muscle yesterday in the ring. Nothing to
worry about, but I don’t want them getting upset." He
lifted the latch and they entered the stall. The yearling
picked up his head to study them. "The guy’s wife is a bit
high-strung. You know how women can get worked up over even
a fly bite."
Matthew shook his head in agreement. "Jah, my sister
Emma is like that. She wants to call the vet each time one
of her sheep has a runny nose."
Jeff met his eye. "And your family lets her? That can
get mighty expensive." He gently scratched the colt behind
his ears to settle him down.
"Nah, my pa sends for Aunt Hannah who comes over with a
stack of sheep books. They’ll keep reading until they
figure out what’s wrong and how to fix it. We almost never
need to call Dr. Longo."
Jeff nodded sagely. "Always best not to get too
emotional. I like horses plenty, but this is business. I
imagine it’s the same way with sheep and cows." The colt
licked the trainer’s hand. His pink tongue looked comically
too large for his mouth. "Women become too attached. They
want to treat every critter like a new pet puppy."
"That’s for sure." Matthew said, but in reality, other
than Emma with her sheep, he knew little about females with
animals. His mamm and younger sister stayed as far away
from them as possible. Leah’s eyes would grow puffy and her
nose plugged up if she even walked into the barn.
"Okay, now. You keep rubbing his ears to keep him quiet.
I want to tape up these forelegs to make sure he ain’t
limping when those Columbus people get here. That and a
good night’s sleep, he’ll be good as new."
Matthew readily obliged. This quarter horse was one of
his favorites. He’d just started learning about bloodlines,
but this colt’s ancestry must be impressive judging by his
characteristics. While he stroked the neck, the trainer
wrapped the legs—not too tight to impede circulation and
not to loose to be easily shaken off.
"There, that oughta do it." Jeff stood and brushed wood
shavings off his palms. "Thanks for your help, boy." He
offered Matt a rare smile and slapped him on the
shoulder. "Why don’t you go find Mac and tell him we’re
ready for the owners’ visit?"
"Sure thing." Matthew closed the stall door behind him
and strode toward the front entrance of the long barn. He’d
almost reached the doorway when he remembered the new
leather gloves he’d set on the ledge. His daed always
warned he would never save money if he didn’t stop losing
things. Turning around, he walked back to the stall
quietly, hoping Jeff wouldn’t witness his forgetfulness. No
sense giving him something else to tease about now that
they were starting to get along.
As Matthew picked up his gloves, he spotted Andrews down
on his knees beside the colt. He was murmuring gentle words
to keep the horse calm. Why didn’t Jeff finish his
ministrations while he was there to help? With growing
unease, Matthew watched the trainer pull a hypodermic
needle from his pocket, remove the cap, and inject a
syringe of fluid into the colt’s flank.
Andrews wasn’t supposed to administer medications. He
wasn’t a vet or even a licensed technician. Rich folks got
nervous about their animals just like that Columbus wife.
With an odd feeling, Matthew crept back from the stall
until he could turn around and then he hurried from the
barn. As he’d been ordered, he went looking for Mr.
Macintosh as his uneasy feeling swelled into something
downright troubling.
* * * * *
Julia knew something was up the moment she spotted their
buggy racing up the lane at full gallop. Leah never drove
fast; she didn’t trust horses enough to let them go faster
than a trot. Drying her hands on a towel, Julia hurried
onto the porch with a mother’s growing anxiety whenever
something wasn’t normal with a kinner.
"Whoa," Leah hollered and applied the brake. Driveway
stones scattered in all directions.
Simon walked out of the barn, frowning at his gravel
displaced into the lawn. "What’s the big hurry, daughter?
You hear about Mason jars on sale over in Walnut Creek?" He
grabbed hold of Jack’s bridle while Leah jumped down from
the buggy.
"Even better than that, daed!" she exclaimed. "Wait
until you hear."
Even from the porch Julia could see Leah’s cheeks were
flushed with excitement. This was the daughter who seldom
worked herself up about anything, unlike Emma who could be
laughing one minute and sobbing the next.
"Henry!" Simon bellowed. "Come rub down this horse and
then turn him out in the pasture. Your schwestern’s got
news that apparently can’t wait till supper."
Henry appeared with his usual calm demeanor, took the
reins and began releasing the horse from the traces. He
offered his older sister only a casual glance.
Leah marched toward the house. "Mamm! I’m so glad you’re
home. I’ve got great news to tell."
"Where would I be?" Julia asked, lowering herself onto
the porch swing. "It’s practically suppertime." She patted
the seat beside her.
"I’m too excited to sit," Leah said, shaking her
head. "Hurry, daed!"
Simon stared at her as he lumbered up the steps,
breathing heavily. "Were you stung by a hornet? What’s the
matter with you?"
"No hornet bites today. There’s a restaurant opening up
in that old train car on the railroad siding at the edge of
town. Emma and I saw it years ago. This Mennonite lady—her
name’s April—tried my apple pie once and said she’d never
tasted better. She will run a diner mainly for Plain folk,
but her sister doesn’t have any more time to help and quit.
April let me inside to take a look around. It’s beautiful."
Leah paced from one end of the porch to the other.
Julia and Simon stared at their child in utter
confusion. She was looking back at them as though this
should make perfect sense.
Leah slapped her forehead. "I left out the most
important part—she offered me the job, to take her sister’s
place." It would be impossible for her to look happier.
Her parents remained silent.
"That is, if you say it’s all right," she added
quickly. "It would only be four days a week." Apprehension
began to replace enthusiasm as her news failed to generate
the anticipated reaction.
"Sit down, Leah," Julia demanded. "Stop prancing around
and tell us the whole story from the beginning."
"Oh, boy, what are we in for now?" Simon lowered himself
to the steps.
Leah complied and after two deep breaths, gave them a
full account of her trip to Mount Hope to deliver pies.
When she had finished, and had covered every possible
objection with a practical solution, Julia and Simon had no
choice but to give her their blessing.
After all, how much trouble could a girl get into four
mornings a week in a small town like Winesburg?