Assaulted Pretzel Page 3

  His left eyebrow inched upward. “Not alone?”

  She took a deep breath and let it seep out from between her lips. “For starters, if you come with me, I’ll be by your side. And”—she heard Esther’s whispered confession in her thoughts and prayed it was the right moment to share it aloud—“more importantly, you’re not alone in wanting a glimpse of your loved ones.”

  Jakob stepped back and dropped into his chair. “Excuse me?”

  Step by step, she made her way around his desk and squatted down beside him, the slight tremble in his hand making her eyes burn with emotion. “I’m not the only one who wants you to come today, Jakob. Esther does, too.”

  “Esther?”

  “Yes, and she told me that Martha has started talking about you with her.”

  Covering his mouth with his hand, Jakob’s eyes widened as Claire continued. “Esther said her mother only speaks of you when they are alone. The conversation always comes on the heels of Martha asking whether Esther has seen you about town.”

  Jakob’s hand slipped downward. “My sister asks about me?”

  Claire reached up, took hold of Jakob’s hand, and held it tight. “She told Esther that her mother—your mother—prays for you every night. And that your brother, Isaac, drives his buggy past the station from time to time hoping to catch a glimpse of you but never does.”

  She took the opportunity Jakob’s stunned silence afforded to make her final point, hoping against hope he’d see things the way she did. “This is your chance to see them, Jakob. And it’s their chance to see you.”

  “My father will not approve.”

  “Your father doesn’t necessarily have to know. And if, by chance, he sees you, he can turn away. That’s his choice. And maybe your mother and your brother will do the same—I don’t know. But if what Esther says is true, I don’t think that would happen until they’d taken a good long look.”

  “A good long look,” Jakob echoed in a whisper.

  Claire nodded and then squeezed his hand one last time. “So? What do you say? Will you go with me? Esther has been talking about Schnitz and Knepp for weeks now and I’m going to burst if I don’t get to try it. Today.”

  A slow, tentative smile made its way across Jakob’s face, ushering in the briefest of dimple sightings. “We can’t have you bursting now, can we?”

  “Does that mean what I think it means?” she dared to ask.

  His answer came by way of the button on the side of his desk phone that linked him to the dispatcher’s desk. “Garrett? I’m heading out to the festival for an hour or so. Raise me on my cell if you need anything.”

  Chapter 4

  They weren’t even halfway down Lighted Way when the potpourri of delectable aromas wafting up the hill from the annual Amish Food Festival kicked her sense of smell into overdrive. And with her aroused sense of smell came a quickening of her pace and a protest from her companion.

  “Did you enter us in a race I don’t know about?” Jakob mumbled as he elongated his stride beside Claire. “Because the festival isn’t going anywhere for the next several hours, you know.”

  “True. But if you’d been hearing about something since the moment you moved here the way I have, you’d be hankering for a chance to experience it for yourself, too.” That said, she knew the same thing that pulled her forward had to be weighing on Jakob’s footfalls at least a little. Slowing her steps to a more manageable speed, she cast a look in the detective’s direction, all hint of the man’s heart-stopping dimples gone. “It’s going to be okay, Jakob.”

  “And if it is, it’ll be fleeting. Like it was when I first saw Esther…and then Martha.”

  “Fleeting?”

  Jakob slipped his hands into the front pockets of his khaki slacks and shrugged. “Seeing Esther, and then Martha, for the first time a couple of months ago was a dream come true. But the euphoria only lasts so long before reality kicks in. Momentary eye contact is great when it first happens. But when it doesn’t go any further than that, the hope kind of fades.”

  She cast about for something to say to refute his claim but there was nothing. Like it or not, Jakob had earned his excommunication from the Amish community by his own choosing. It didn’t matter that he’d left to be a police officer or that he lived a good life. He’d made his choice and he’d done so after being baptized.

  She didn’t agree with the mind-set, but it wasn’t a teaching she’d been raised on, either. The only part that still baffled Claire from time to time was why Jakob had chosen to leave his out-of-sight, out-of-mind police job in New York to come back here, to Heavenly, where the constant reminder of everything he’d lost was around virtually every corner.

  A slow-moving vehicle at their backs made them both turn, their hands rising into the air in unison at the familiar face piloting the small bus down the cobblestoned street. Keith Watson pulled to a stop beside them and slid his driver’s side window open. “If I hadn’t just had my eyesight checked not more than three weeks ago, I’d think I was seeing things with the two of you walking down the street just now.

  “I mean, do you see this place?” His meaty hand directed their attention to both sides of Lighted Way and its closed-for-business signs. “If this food festival happened more than once a year, my business would be dead in the water.”

  And Keith was right. The tourists who flocked to Heavenly each year were the sole reason many of the town’s businesses existed. Without them, Keith wouldn’t have people paying for his tours through Amish country, her aunt wouldn’t have guests paying for rooms, and Claire wouldn’t have the gift shop that had put her back in control of her own hopes and dreams.

  Jakob stepped off the curb and over to the bus, extending his hand toward the middle-aged man who’d gotten himself off the unemployment line by creating Heavenly Tours. Although still in its relative infancy, the bus tour was gaining in popularity with each passing season. The addition of some behind-the-scenes stops that afforded his customers the opportunity to walk through a working Amish farm and watch with their own eyes as Daniel Lapp, an Amish toy maker, engaged in his craft had netted Keith the kind of word-of-mouth business that made all the difference in the world.

  “It’ll be back to normal before you know it.” Jakob closed his hand over Keith’s and gave it a firm shake before motioning back at Claire with his chin. “You should do what Claire is doing and enjoy the day off. There’s nothing like Amish cooking to chase away your worries.”

  “Actually, that’s why I’m here. I’m going to park the bus in the field and try as many dishes as I can just so I can give my opinions on them when my customers ask. Besides, food always goes with a celebration, and Heavenly certainly has something to celebrate these days.”

  Claire touched the edge of her hand to her forehead to shield the sun from her eyes and smiled. “So you heard, too?”

  “I sure did. Best news I’ve had all month.”

  Jakob looked from Claire to Keith and back again. “What are you two talking about? What news?”

  The bus rolled forward ever so slightly as Keith shifted into park. “My tour stop at Lapp’s place—which is by far my most popular stop to begin with—is about to get even more exciting now.”

  “Oh?” Jakob mused.

  Stepping off the curb alongside Jakob, Claire nodded. “Karble Toys is getting ready to launch a new line of toys made by the Amish.”

  “And they’re going to do it right here in Heavenly,” Keith finished triumphantly.

  Jakob whistled. “Are you kidding me?”

  “No.” Claire took a deep breath and proceeded to fill the detective in on the pending deal that she, herself, had just learned of that very morning. When she was done, she couldn’t help but release a little squeal. “Can you imagine what something like that is going to do for Daniel and Sarah Lapp, as well as people like your broth—”

  Realizing she was about to divulge a connection she wasn’t sure she was supposed to divulge, she changed direction. Quickly
. “Like Isaac Schrock and all of the other Amish men who will be needed to help fill the kind of orders Karble Toys gets?”

  “It’ll make all the difference in the world, especially with farmland difficult to come by in these parts nowadays.” Jakob cupped his hand over his mouth only to let it slip the rest of the way down his face. “How come I haven’t heard this before now?”

  “Just heard it myself this morning,” Keith said. “Seems the head honcho of Karble is in town to talk specifics. And if the word on the street is correct, he had his first meeting with Lapp and Schrock at Heavenly Scented Brews last night.”

  “Which explains why Rob Karble turned down Aunt Diane’s dessert hour last night.” Claire couldn’t help but laugh at the unexpected revelation. “She’ll be mighty relieved to hear his refusal was based on business rather than the menu.”

  “How’s Daniel with all of this?” Jakob asked, directing his question at Keith.

  “You mean Lapp?” Keith removed his hat and scratched the top of his balding head. “Well, from what I heard at the coffee shop this morning before they closed for the festival, he’s on cloud nine on account of Sarah being pregnant with number six and his love of making toys.” Glancing at the leather strap on his left wrist, Keith nodded in their direction and shifted the bus into drive once again. “Guess it’s time to let you folks be on your way. Maybe I’ll see you around the festival.”

  With the gentle guidance of Jakob’s hand at her back, Claire stepped back onto the sidewalk, the excitement over the festival stronger than ever. Even Jakob, who had been exhibiting such apprehension about the annual affair prior to Keith’s stop, seemed almost eager to get where they were going.

  Shop by shop they made their way down the rest of Lighted Way until they reached the end of the sidewalk and turned left, their feet halting in unison as they did. For there, in the field below, was an unending sea of people milling about, laughing and eating and visiting with one another.

  She felt her mouth gape ever so slightly. “Wow.”

  Jakob was silent beside her for several long beats as he canvassed the crowd, the suggestion of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “It hasn’t changed one bit,” he finally said in a voice that bordered on a whisper.

  Leaning against the side of Gussman’s General Store, she studied Jakob closely, noting the way excitement lit his eyes while tension ruled his upper body. “So you came to this when you were a kid?”

  “Came to it? Nah, Martha and I ran our own booth. And when Isaac came to live with us, he helped, too.”

  “You made food?”

  Jakob nodded, his gaze still making its way back and forth across the crowd like the detective he was. “Technically, Martha made the food and I took care of the selling part. But that’s because she made the best homemade salted pretzels you could ever imagine. Got the recipe from our grandmother but did something to them that made them even better. Every year people lined up to buy those pretzels, and every year we made a killing.”

  “I bet your Dat was thrilled,” she said, pleased with herself for remembering the Pennsylvania Dutch word for father.

  But if Jakob noticed, he didn’t say. Instead, the animation that had made the amber flecks in his eyes sparkle just moments earlier disappeared, the tension previously confined to his upper body making its way into every nuance of his face.

  She pushed off the building and took a step toward the detective. “Jakob, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

  “Dat was not thrilled. He never was. He only pointed to Benjamin and speculated how much more he must have brought home to his family.”

  The familiar flutter in her chest at the mention of Benjamin Miller took root and she willed it away. Now was not the time or the place to let her confusing feelings for the dark-haired, blue-eyed man take over.

  Not that there ever was a good time or place. Benjamin’s life as an Amish man jettisoned her flutters into the land of wasted time. Yet they still came. Every single time.

  Jakob’s voice morphed into the one Claire had come to equate with Esther’s grandfather, a voice the detective turned to often, whenever he shared one of the more difficult memories of his childhood. “You should spend more time with Benjamin, son. He has turned his sister’s pie stand into the talk of the festival.”

  “The talk of the festival?” she echoed. “I’m surprised he’d say that. I thought the Amish didn’t boast like that.”

  “They don’t. But that didn’t stop Dat from implying.” Jakob fisted his hands at his sides only to release them in conjunction with a deep, audible breath. “No. I’m not going to go there today.”

  Her stomach dropped. “But you said you’d come. Please, Jakob.”

  He closed his eyes briefly, opening them once again as he shook his head at her. “No. I mean I’m not revisiting my past today. Not the bad parts, anyway.”

  Relief flooded her from head to toe and she reached out, tucking her hand inside the crook of his arm. “Then let’s go. I’ve got some Schnitz and Knepp to try.”

  His deep, husky laugh warmed her from the inside out, a feeling that rivaled the Benjamin-induced flutter in its own right and only served to increase her level of confusion even more.

  Their shoes parted company with cobblestone and then concrete in favor of dirt as they made their way down the hill and onto the official festival grounds, their proximity to each other growing uncomfortably close as the crowd swirled around them.

  “Where should we go first?” she shouted over the roar of a crowd made up of English and Amish alike. From what she could see so far, most—but not all—of the folks in straw hats and head caps were situated behind wooden booths, their hands busy exchanging food for money with festivalgoers. Some, though, were simply walking around or shuttling more food between the line of buggies on the western side of the field and the owner’s particular food booth.

  With nary a response, Jakob grabbed hold of her hand and zigzagged her through the maze of booths before coming to a complete stop in the center of a wide clearing. Then, lifting his finger ever so slightly, he guided her eyes to a booth some ten or so yards from where they stood, his voice choked with emotion. “She’s still selling them…”

  She studied the handful of English people waiting their turn for whatever delicacy that particular booth was offering and then let her gaze shift upward, to the hand-painted words across the wooden upper beam.

  Salted Pretzels. $2.00

  Turning, she looked from Jakob to the stand and back again. “That’s Martha’s booth?”

  His head stopped midnod, the expression on his face telling her everything she needed to know. Yet still, she glanced back at the pretzel booth.

  Sure enough, there was Martha, handing a paper-wrapped pretzel to the mother of an all-too-eager youngster on the customer side of the makeshift counter. To Martha’s left was Claire’s employee and friend, Esther—the strings of the young woman’s head cap noticeably tied in the presence of her mother.

  Claire smiled.

  Esther was proud of her Amish upbringing. Proud of her choice to be baptized. But, every once in a while, the nineteen-year-old showed a slightly rebellious streak in everything from letting the ties of her head cap dangle across her shoulders to pumping Claire for details of life in New York City.

  Seconds later, her focus still trained on Esther and Martha, she saw a third person step forward inside the booth. This face bore no resemblance to that of the family member on either side of him or the one still standing, motionless, beside Claire.

  “Isaac?” Jakob mumbled beneath his breath.

  She reengaged Jakob’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Yes, that’s Isaac.”

  Claire had met Isaac Schrock one afternoon several weeks earlier when he’d come into Heavenly Treasures to drop off a few consignment items for his sister, Martha. A quiet man, he’d come and gone with little fanfare, waving to Esther on his way back out of the shop.

  When he’d gone, Esth
er had filled in the blanks for Claire, explaining that Isaac had been taken in by Jakob and Martha’s family when they were seventeen and fourteen and Isaac was just four. Isaac’s mother had come to Heavenly from an Amish community in Ohio or Indiana shortly after Isaac’s birth. The widow had raised him on a tiny farm down the street from the Fishers until the day she died, leaving Isaac an orphan quickly claimed by Jakob and Martha’s parents.

  At Jakob’s slight stagger, she moved her hand to his shoulder, following his wide-eyed gaze back to the pretzel booth and the unmistakable look of stunned recognition on Isaac’s narrow face.

  Slowly, tentatively, Isaac backed away from his position between his sister and niece and made his way around the confines of the booth, his jaw slightly slack, his feet leading the way with purpose.

  Claire’s heart began to pound in her chest as her gaze ricocheted between an approaching Isaac, a slowly moving Jakob, and a stunned Martha who had looked up at that exact moment and seemed to register what was about to happen.

  Swallowing over the lump that rose in her throat, Claire silently willed Isaac to go with his heart rather than heed the pull of the Ordnung. For as limited as her knowledge of the Amish still was at that point, she knew that if Isaac truly thought about what he was about to do, he’d turn and walk the other way.

  But knowing that and even preparing for it did little to ease the ache she felt in her heart as Isaac suddenly disappeared into the crowd, his change in intent and direction soliciting a garbled and barely audible protest from Jakob’s lips.

  Chapter 5

  He tried to brush off the almost-reunion with Isaac and enjoy the rest of the festival, but Claire knew it was just an act. Jakob may have been able to muster a smile for the English residents of Heavenly who stopped to shake hands with the detective over the next hour or so, but it was a sentiment that never made it to his eyes.

  Or his cheeks.

  She’d tried to convince him the change in Isaac’s direction wasn’t what he’d thought but, rather, the result of the sleeve-encased arm that had reached out and pulled Jakob’s brother into the crowd. But it didn’t matter. Jakob was convinced it was no accident, pointing to the epidemic of whispering that had begun to rise up among the Amish contingent on the heels of the ill-fated encounter.