there and be quiet,” Pleasant said, indicating a long bench that ran along one wall. She was glad to see that even the twins seemed to recognize the limits of her patience. While she poured four glasses of milk and handed one to each child, she tried in vain to overhear the conversation taking place in the shop. Then she heard the opening and closing of the outer door and a moment later, Jeremiah stepped into the kitchen.
“May I have a word with Rolf, Frau Obermeier?” he asked.
“What about?” Pleasant asked.
Jeremiah gave her that maddening smile of his and tousled Rolf’s hair. “With your permission, Frau Yoder has suggested that he might be a candidate to help out at the ice cream shop.”
Rolf’s eyes widened with a mixture of such surprise, unadulterated joy and pleading that Pleasant’s heart sank. This was the most difficult part of being a parent. She was going to have to say no.
“I don’t believe that would be a good idea,” she said.
Rolf’s face fell but he said nothing. Jeremiah’s smile tightened. “I see. Perhaps this is not the right time.” He glanced at Bettina and the twins and seemed to focus on their tear-stained faces. “Forgive me for the intrusion, ma’am. We can discuss the matter later.” He nodded to the children and headed for the door.
“Wait a minute,” Pleasant said, hurrying after him.
He had opened the door and the bell was still vibrating when she caught up to him. “I know you mean well, Herr Troyer, but …”
“Are the children all right?”
Pleasant blinked up at him. “Yes, of course they are.” Why would he think otherwise? She saw a flicker of doubt cross his expression and felt her defenses go on alert. “Herr Troyer, please understand that Rolf has his schooling and chores at home and …”
“As do many other children.” The implication that other boys Rolf’s age were working or learning a trade was clear.
“The children are my responsibility,” Pleasant said tightly. “I will decide when the time is right that they should take on more than they must already manage.”
Jeremiah looked away for an instant, out the leaded glass of the bakery door. “Of course, you know best, but if I may offer an observation as someone who was once smaller and not nearly as strong as others my age?” He seemed to wait a beat for her to grant permission and when she said nothing, he continued, “Do not deny the boy the opportunity to find his place in the world.”
“He is only twelve,” Pleasant protested. “Besides, he will one day have his father’s farm to manage and …”
“I am not speaking of his life as an adult. I am speaking of his life now—the things that will surely shape the man he will one day become. There is a tempest building in that boy. A growing view of the world and those around him as unfair. He is fast approaching a crossroads where he will either accept his size as a challenge to be met or he will surrender himself to the belief that he has been unjustly punished.”
Pleasant thought of Hannah’s son Caleb and how he had run away. Everything there had turned out for the best, but Rolf was different. Small and quiet—too quiet, she had often thought. And Merle had been especially hard on the boy.
“Why are you really reluctant to have your son work for me?” Jeremiah asked. “Or perhaps it is not just me? Perhaps you are reluctant to let him go?”
She looked up at him as if truly seeing him for the first time. His dark wavy hair was the color of chestnuts. His eyes were the gold-and-green hazel of autumn leaves in his native Ohio and they held no hint of reproach, only curiosity. His expression was gentle and reflected only a deep interest in her reply.
I am afraid, she thought and knew it for the truth she would not speak aloud. “I will think on what you have said,” she replied. “I respect that you have seen in Rolf perhaps some of your own youth, but I would remind you that he is not you—nor your son.”
“Nein,” Jeremiah whispered, glancing away again. “A friend then? Could we—you and your children and I—not be friends?” He arched a quizzical eyebrow and the corners of his mouth quirked into a half smile.
“Neighbors,” she corrected.
He grinned and put on his hat. “It’s a beginning,” he said. “Good day, Pleasant.”
“Good day,” she replied without bothering to correct his familiarity. She watched him hop off the end of the porch closest to his shop and thought, And perhaps in time, friends.
There had been one reason and one reason only that Jeremiah had gone to the bakery for a third time in the same morning. He had been sitting outside the hardware store sharing doughnuts with the Hadwells when Mrs. Hadwell had noticed Hilda herding Pleasant’s children down the street. The girl was in tears and the three boys lagged behind her and their aunt, looking distraught.
Mrs. Hadwell had cleared her throat, drawing her husband’s attention and then she nodded toward the little parade passing their store. Roger Hadwell glanced up and then turned back to the conversation he and Jeremiah had been having about remodeling Jeremiah’s shop. But Jeremiah knew that look. He’d seen similar glances pass between neighbors and friends of his family his whole life. Louder than a shout it was a look that warned, “This is none of our business. Stay out of it.”
And to his surprise, Jeremiah found it easier to comply with that unspoken warning than to call out to Hilda Yoder and ask if there was a problem. To his shame he lowered his eyes until Hilda had passed by on her way to the bakery, her fingers clutching the thin upper arm of Pleasant’s daughter. But the scene stayed with him even as he headed back to his own shop and even after he forced himself to focus on the plans for remodeling the space. And when he heard one of the children cry out, he could stand it no more and headed for the bakery.
With no real plan in mind, he was a bit taken aback when he passed the bakery window and saw Pleasant thrust a bucket under the nose of one of the younger boys. Perhaps the child was ill. Perhaps he had misread the entire situation. He entered the bakery, closing the door with an extra force that he knew would cause the bell to jangle loudly. It worked. Everyone turned to him. Instinctively, he focused his smile on Hilda Yoder who scowled at the interruption while Pleasant said something about milk and took advantage of his arrival to take the children into the back room.
“What is it now, Herr Troyer?” Hilda snapped.
Jeremiah had no idea what he should say. He racked his brain for some reason why he might have needed to have dealings with the woman.
“I saw you come down the street earlier and then it occurred to me that you might be just the person to give me some advice.” He suspected that giving advice was Hilda’s stock in trade and when her scowl shifted from irritation to suspicion, he was pretty sure that he had guessed correctly.
“What sort of advice?”
Jeremiah chuckled. “I may know how to manage a business and make a decent ice cream, but when it comes to decorating the premises …” He shrugged. “I am quite at a loss.” He could practically see the wheels turning in Hilda’s brain and hurried on to press his advantage. “Clearly, I’m going to need tables and chairs and a serving counter and …”
Hilda nodded, her small
