known even as she’d said it that it wasn’t accurate—all of the survivors of the prom night accident had scars whether you could see them or not.
“Oh, they’re there.” Holly had pointed at her prosthetic foot. “We miss Daddy. We miss Linda. Tuck and Jack have had to get past knowing their dad caused the accident. But we’ve all reached the point of not letting the scars define us. We had to give up some dreams, but we’ve found new ones.” Her dark eyes had searched Cass’s face. “How about you?”
Cass had shrugged. “When I was here that year, I thought I’d found perfection. I even wrote a paper one time about how the lake should have been called Lake Utopia. I’ve been looking for that same thing ever since, so in a way I guess I do let it define me.” Something needed to because she didn’t really have a clue as to who she was.
Holly hadn’t asked why she’d left, although Cass could read the question in the other woman’s dark eyes. Jesse had spoken little, greeting her and then stepping aside.
“Will you see all of us?” Holly had asked. “We’ve all wondered. We’ve all looked for you at one time or another. We wanted to respect your privacy, but we wanted to know you were all right, too.”
“I want to see you all.” That decision had been instant and much easier than Cass had anticipated.
“Are you lost?” Royce’s voice interrupted her reverie. “I think we drove past the orchard back there.”
“Oh, good grief.” Cass looked in her rearview mirror and braked. The wreck had happened somewhere near the country club that sat at the top of the hill on her left. She didn’t want to be reminded, but no sooner had the thought crossed her mind than she saw the beautifully carved crosses at the side of the road. One for Dave Gallagher and one for Linda Saylors—she knew without looking. Jack and Tucker’s father had died instantly when he’d hit the van carrying one set of parents and ten prom-goers, but no one would have included him in the roadside memorial.
“Sorry, Roycie,” she said. “I didn’t realize coming back here would be so overwhelming.”
Royce’s hand brushed her shoulder in a pat. “Bad overwhelming or good overwhelming?”
Cass laughed, surprised at the sound. And a little pleased with herself. Her life was okay in a lot of ways. She was successful in her field. She’d survived breast cancer and divorce. But she didn’t usually laugh much. It felt good.
When they pulled into the orchard driveway after turning around near the crosses, the wagon was all set for the hayride. Two pretty horses were anxious to get going. A young Amish man, his clean-shaven face announcing his bachelorhood, was on the driver’s seat. Another young man, bearing a marked resemblance to Luke Rossiter, sat beside him.
“Sorry we’re late,” said Cass, joining Luke at the back of the wagon. “I was daydreaming and missed the turn. This is my sister, Royce.”
“Royce.” Luke shook hands with her. “That’s Isaac Hershberger and my brother, Seth. The wagon’s going to be almost full of a 4-H group from near Kokomo. There’s room for you, Royce, if you want to go, but your sister and I are going to take the motorized tour.”
“I don’t know.” Royce wasn’t normally shy, but she looked uncomfortable. “Maybe I should just wait here. I won’t be in the way.”
Seth jumped down from the driver’s seat and came around. “If you’ll come along, I’ll ride in the back with you. Mary Detwiler will sit up front with Isaac and they’ll pretend they’re not going out.”
Isaac turned in his seat, smiled a greeting at Cass and Royce and tossed his flat-brimmed hat at Seth.
“Come on.” Luke urged Cass in front of him. “They’ll settle down once the passengers are on board.” He waved at his brother. “‘Settle down’ might be the wrong way to say it—they’ll entertain them. How’s that?”
He led the way to the utility vehicle on the other side of the orchard truck. “Do you want some coffee to take along? It’s always fresh inside the store.”
“That would be good.”
A few minutes later, they were back on the four-wheeler. “There are sixty acres here, as you probably know,” he began, starting down one of the wide paths between the rows of trees. “We have nearly a hundred different varieties of apples, plus a few acres of pears, cherries and plums. We also have some grapevines. Chris Granger, from Sycamore Hill Vineyard and Winery, is helping with those and eventually we hope to serve and sell wine. We already sell all kinds of jams, jellies and honeys on consignment.”
“I’m surprised,” Cass admitted. “I thought it was more or less a hobby farm. I know the income was more substantial than I expected when I inherited, but I had nothing to compare it to.” Nor had she paid much attention. She’d put the monthly checks in the bank, uncomfortable with receiving money she hadn’t earned. The cumulative amount had made her accountant raise her eyebrows.
“We’ve expanded quite a bit. The apple barn closes in January, but we’re hoping to keep the store open this year with the consigned items.”
Something in his voice jarred a distant and sweet memory. “Dumplings. Do you have apple dumplings? I remember Aunt Zoey making them when I’d visit during the summer when I was little. They were like bowls filled with heaven.”
“We do have them, although Mrs. Detwiler and a few other Amish women make them for us now. Zoey had a class and taught them all how she does it.”
Cass peered at the structures. The climate-controlled storage barn stood apart. She was almost certain it had been built since the last time she was here. The retail store was in the apple barn. The round barn seemed to be waiting to be used. “Have you thought of putting a restaurant here?”
He nodded. “Zoey’s always wanted to, but Miniagua’s not big enough to support another one. There’s already a café, a bar and grill, a pizza place and a tearoom on the lake, plus we’re a few miles from there so it would be out of the way for nearly everyone. The tearoom doubles as an event center. So does the lake clubhouse and even the country club if you’re in the mood for some exclusivity.”
“What about a coffee shop?” Cass didn’t know anything about restaurants or demand for them, but she did know coffee shops. Most of Cassandra G. Porter’s Mysteries on the Wabash series had been written in them.
Luke looked thoughtful. “There used to be one in Sawyer, but the owners weren’t big on either cleanliness or quality—or paying their utilities, for that matter—so it didn’t last long.”
Cass gestured with her empty cup. “You have a good start with this. It’s good coffee.” She was almost sure it was the same kind she’d found in the house.
“The bulk foods store sells it.”
“You could serve those apple dumplings. Maybe have a limited breakfast and lunch menu.”
“It’s worth some thought. Summer people might like it. I’m not sure lakers would care one way or another, but it could be worth its while with summer traffic, I imagine—although the location might still be a problem.” He didn’t sound especially encouraging, but he didn’t give an unequivocal no, either.
They pulled up at the barn the same time as the
