The Amish Cookie Club (The Amish Cookie Club Book 1) Page 3

  Now that the children were older—both Luke and Peter had their own families now—Verna wished she could go back to helping at the store. But Simon liked knowing she was home tending the garden and taking care of the household chores. Besides, he had plenty of help from their two youngest sons.

  When Timothy and Samuel worked at the store, Simon would often come home an hour early so he could tackle some chores of his own. Those were the best days for Verna. She loved having her husband around without the children present. She often helped him, too, whether it be cleaning the stable or tending to the yard. It was their private time together.

  Of course, today, Verna had been at Edna’s, and now the usual blissful mood was lacking.

  Nothing was ever happy when Myrna was the topic of discussion.

  “So, tell me now,” Simon continued once their conversation took on a lighter tone, “what else went on at your cookie club?”

  Cookie club. Oh, how Verna disliked it when people called their gathering that. She knew Simon meant it in jest, a teasing term he used when they were alone together—unlike some other people. “Besides the fact that it’s not a club—”

  He laughed.

  “—things were rather interesting today.”

  Simon raised an eyebrow. “Oh ja?”

  She nodded. “Edna came up with an idea.”

  “She usually does,” he said, not unkindly.

  “We’re going to try to find a job for Myrna, one that will refine her rough edges, mayhaps make her a little more skilled in housekeeping and possibly better suited so a young man might consider courting her.” Verna smiled at him, hoping her husband would agree that Edna had come up with a brilliant idea. “We’re going to see if any Amish mothers need helpers or if any elderly women need care.”

  For a long moment, Simon stared at her, his eyes unblinking and his mouth hanging open a little, just enough to give him a dumbfounded appearance. Her heart felt as if it had fallen. He hated the idea. She could just tell by looking at his expression. And if Simon hated the idea, she’d have no choice but to tell Edna so. He was, after all, her husband and Myrna’s father. But when the shock dissipated from his eyes, the corners of his mouth turned up, and the hint of a smile slowly spread across his face, she realized she had misread him.

  “Land’s sake, Verna.” Now he was full-on grinning. “That’s just about the most wunderbarr gut idea I’ve ever heard! That’s exactly what Myrna needs: a job in an Amish household!”

  Silently, Verna rejoiced. She’d never go against her husband’s wishes, so having his support was a relief. “I thought so, too.” She leaned over and lowered her voice. “And it would keep her away from the Englische.”

  “Well, that, too,” he laughed again. “My customers will thank you, that’s for sure and certain.” He stared into Verna’s face before turning his attention back to the horse. “Now, why don’t you let me finish with the grooming and you go start supper?”

  “I’m perfectly capable of tending to the horse,” she protested.

  “Now, now, Verna, you do as I say.” His tone was firm but gentle. “Don’t want to have a bald horse when I hitch her up to my buggy for worship on Sunday.”

  She smiled at his jest and leaned up to place a soft kiss on his cheek. “You’re a right gut man, Simon Bontrager.”

  * * *

  That evening, at the kitchen table, with the green and white checkered cloth covered with platters of fried ham, baked chicken, and steamed vegetables, Simon broached the subject of Myrna working at the store.

  Verna had just lifted her head after having bowed it during the silent prayer when she heard Simon clear his throat. He reached for the boiled potatoes as he did so.

  After all these years of marriage, Verna knew that, when Simon cleared his throat, he was about to make an important statement. And so did the rest of the family. The only difference was that, this time, Verna already knew what her husband was about to say.

  “Myrna, I’ve something to discuss with you,” Simon began in a deliberate manner. Verna braced herself. His tone reflected the nature of the upcoming discussion: unpleasant. Timothy and Samuel looked up, glancing at each other before turning their heads to stare at their sister.

  Myrna had just scooped some applesauce onto her plate, and at her father’s words, her hand hung in midair. “Oh ja, Daed? What are we to discuss?”

  Her tone was flat, and Verna hoped she was the only one to notice the way Myrna had emphasized the word discuss. She glanced at her husband and saw the muscles tighten along his jawline. Surely he, too, had noticed.

  “There’s been quite a pattern here, Dochder.” His voice was stern and commanded Myrna’s attention. “For the past year or so, you’ve been working countless jobs, and you’ve been let go from just about every one of them!”

  Inwardly, Verna groaned. She’d have used a different strategy if she were broaching this topic with Myrna, but Verna knew better than to criticize her husband in front of the children. She said a quick prayer that God would help guide Simon’s tongue.

  Myrna, however, raised a delicate eyebrow. “It’s not as if I’m getting fired on purpose.”

  That was the way Myrna always responded, finding an excuse and laying blame on anyone but herself but in a way that sounded perfectly logical. Sometimes Verna thought she was just a little too smart for her own good. Other times, Verna felt enormously proud of her daughter for standing up for herself. She knew many Amish women didn’t possess that trait. Unfortunately, it wasn’t always becoming.

  “Nor is it for lack of responsibility or laziness, Daed.” Myrna laid her hands in her lap and met her father’s gaze without wavering. “I work hard. I learned that from you.”

  Verna pressed her lips together, hoping she didn’t look as amused as she felt by her daughter’s flattery. Leave it to Myrna to try to soften her father’s frustration with a compliment.

  Clearly, however, Simon was not charmed. “Now, Myrna—”

  “You always told me to do what’s right and to stand up against what’s wrong,” Myrna continued, her green eyes flashing and her voice becoming animated. “And sometimes, in order to do that, I have to make unpopular choices. Choices that might seem irresponsible, but I can assure you are necessary.”

  Verna avoided eye contact with her daughter, because if she didn’t, she knew Myrna would ask her mother’s opinion on the matter. Being of a gentler spirit than Simon, Verna would certainly try to take the edge off the discussion. And surely Simon would become frustrated and impatient with her, especially after their earlier conversation. No. The last thing Verna needed was for Myrna to start pitting her against Simon. That, too, had been a pattern she hoped to break now that her friends had admitted they thought her daughter to be spoiled.

  “That’s no reason for—”

  “I’m sure you can see that each time I had a valid reason for being let go,” Myrna interrupted, placing emphasis on the words “let go” as if they were more appropriate than the word “fired.” “This last time, I was merely trying to look out for that overweight man at the grocery store. His choices were unhealthy, especially given his large girth.” She glanced at her mother. “Surely you can see that my intentions were not malicious but based on concern.”

  Verna felt Myrna’s gaze bear down on her but refused to give in. Do not look at her. Do not look at her. In her mind, she recited those five words over and over again.

  “Why, the store manager should’ve rewarded me for being so concerned!” Myrna exclaimed, a growing sense of urgency in her voice. “It’s not every day that a mere cashier cares so much about the customers. And that manager didn’t even thank me when I spent my own time, not even on the clock, organizing the shelves. Why, they had oatmeal in the middle of cereal boxes! How ridiculous is that? And granola bars alongside junk food. There’s no rhyme or reason to the way they have that store set up at all!”

  Timothy made a noise that sounded like a laugh and immediately tried to hide it by
coughing into his hand.

  “What?” Myrna glared at him. “You know that being organized is the only way to run a business efficiently!”

  Samuel rolled his eyes. “As if you’ve ever run a business.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I reckon I could run Daed’s business much better than you can. Why, his inventory shelves are just as unorganized as that grocery store!”

  “Enough!” Simon dropped his hand onto the table, the utensils clattering against plates and bowls. Samuel and Timothy stared, wide-eyed, at their father. “I’ll not be listening to this ridiculous bickering at my table. Nor will I be subjected to your silly excuses, Myrna Bontrager. What I will be having is you working at the hardware store—”

  She groaned.

  “—and doing so without interfering in the way we run our business. There will be no fussing with the stock, either. And I don’t want to hear so much as a peep to our customers! You are to keep your opinions to yourself.”

  Myrna pressed her lips together. “I told you I was sorry about the construction man—”

  “We nearly lost his account because of you,” Simon blasted, the discussion heating up even more.

  “Now, now,” Verna put in, trying to bring the discussion down a notch. “This is the supper table.” Her eyes met her husband’s. “The family supper table. There’s no need for harsh words or arguments here.”

  “Sorry, Maem,” Myrna muttered.

  Simon bristled at his wife’s reprimand. For a few long moments, he remained silent, pushing mashed potatoes around his plate, a scowl etched upon his face.

  “Besides,” Verna said, “that was well over a year ago.” A long year ago, she did not add. “And you didn’t lose the account, Simon.” She forced a soft, motherly smile to her face, looking at her husband first before turning her attention to Myrna. “Are we not supposed to forgive, as Jesus taught us to do?”

  An awkward silence fell upon the table. Samuel and Timothy sat stiffly in their ladder-back chairs, staring down at their plates as they shuffled food into their mouths. As it was a Friday, she suspected they both wanted to hurry and finish their meals so they could head out, surely intending to meet up with their friends. The longer the bickering went on, the longer they’d have to wait for the after-prayer.

  But Verna knew that some things couldn’t be rushed.

  It was Myrna who finally broke the silence. “How long, exactly, must I work there, Daed?”

  Fearing that the condescending sound of their daughter’s voice might set off her husband further, Verna reached out and placed her hand over her daughter’s. “Until you find something more suitable.” Her eyes held Simon’s. “Right, Simon?”

  “Suitable. Ja.” He pushed his plate away, clearly uninterested in finishing his meal. “Mayhaps that suitable job will be settling down with some nice young Amish man come next autumn.”

  Immediately, Myrna shot to her feet, her chair scraping the floor as she pushed backward. The motion was so abrupt, her supper plate clattered to the floor and broke in half.

  “Myrna!”

  Verna got up and hurried over to the sink to fetch a rag. Inwardly, she groaned, hoping Simon didn’t disclose the plans she’d made with Edna, Wilma, and Mary. That was the last thing Myrna needed to hear. If Myrna had any idea that her own mother was teaming up with her baking buddies to find her a more suitable job—a job that would prepare her for marriage—Myrna would refuse to cooperate.

  “So, you’d have me married off to get me out of your hair, ja?” She placed her clenched fists on her hips and gave her father a dark look. “Nee, Daed. This is the twenty-first century and I’ll not marry the first man who comes courting just to satisfy you.”

  Before Simon could respond, Verna shot him a warning look. How many nights had they whispered in the faint glow of the kerosene lantern, wondering if Myrna would ever court anyone, never mind settle down? It wasn’t that she was difficult. No, that wasn’t it. But she behaved in a way that was not harmonious with Amish ideals. Her outspokenness and tendency to voice her opinion when she should remain silent, and her refusal to heed the norms of the Amish community, did not make her a very popular girl, at least not among the Amish men in their church district. Too many people were aware of Myrna’s spirited nature.

  “Now, Myrna,” Verna began softly, hoping that her tone would placate her daughter, “your daed didn’t mean that, I’m sure.” She gestured toward the empty chair. “Get yourself another plate and sit, Dochder. There’s no sense going to bed with an empty belly.”

  Reluctantly, Myrna grabbed a clean dish from the drain board, then took her place at the table and, without another word, finished eating. Verna waited for the tension to evaporate from the room. She certainly didn’t want the strain to remain between her husband and daughter, but wasn’t sure how to quell it. Finally, an idea popped into her mind.

  “Myrna,” she began slowly, “I think what your daed means”—her eyes flickered in her husband’s direction, hoping he would remain silent—“is that you’ve been working among the Englische, and mayhaps that’s not suited to you. But if you found something that wasn’t so . . .” Quickly, she tried to find the right word. “. . . worldly, you might fare better.”

  Myrna’s eyebrows knit together and a frown formed on her lips. “‘Worldly’?”

  “Ja, worldly.” Verna kept her gaze on her daughter. The last thing she wanted was to exacerbate her daughter’s sensitivities. She knew how hard her daughter tried, often with a passion that came from deep within. But Verna also knew that not everyone appreciated her outspoken ways. “Working in a shop or store, I mean. Among strangers and Englischers. You know, people who don’t know you, aren’t used to your”—another pause—“spirited nature.”

  She watched as Myrna pursed her lips, her expression changing as if she was in deep thought. Without doubt, of all Verna’s children, Myrna was certainly the wisest, a trait that often came with being reflective.

  Across the table, Samuel shifted his weight, catching Verna’s gaze. He winked at her, a slight hint of a smile on his lips. As his mother, Verna didn’t need a translator to know that her son, while only nineteen years old, was smart enough to understand what she had just implied. And he clearly approved of her discreet choice of words.

  “I think I understand,” Myrna said at last. “Mayhaps you’re right.”

  With a long, drawn-out sigh, Verna relaxed. “I’m glad you agree. Something will come up, Myrna, but in the meantime, you can help your daed at the store.”

  Simon cleared his throat.

  “But under his rules, ja?” Verna quickly added. “Let’s not cause any waves there.”

  With that, the matter was put to rest and supper became everyone’s main focus.

  Verna tried to enjoy the rest of her meal, but the lingering—and deafening—silence that surrounded her family made every bite tasteless and unpalatable to her.

  Chapter Three

  On Saturday, Myrna knelt on the floor in the stockroom of her father’s hardware store, her dark green dress blanketed in dust. To keep her from getting in trouble, her father had instructed Myrna to remove all the items from the shelves, wipe them down, and inventory them before placing them back where they belonged.

  It was busywork and she knew it. Perhaps a bit useful, but not necessary when there were so many other things she felt could use her attention.

  The last thing she wanted was to work at her father’s store. Again. Timothy and Samuel always gave her a hard time, teasing her in the way that younger brothers could do.

  And, to make matters worse, her father watched her like a hawk. If she tried to move even one item to another spot, he seemed to magically appear, hands on his hips and a scowl on his face. If she didn’t know better, she’d have suspected he had secret cameras watching her. But the bishop would never allow those, and her father was far too conservative to even think about such a thing.

  Still, her father seemed to know.

  Oh, how
she hated working in the back room! It wouldn’t be half as bad if her father let her organize everything. She would have enjoyed that. Reworking things and improving efficiency were definitely her two favorite things to do. But her father was adamantly opposed to any of her suggestions. And she couldn’t understand why. His shelves were a complete mess! Nails were stocked with boxes of screws instead of with the hammers and compressors! That made no sense at all to Myrna. And hoses were in the plumbing section, not on the garden shelves.

  But her father wouldn’t hear one word about efficiency.

  “It works for me,” he had told her earlier that morning when she complained about the disarray in the stockroom. There was a familiar tone in his voice, the one that said he wasn’t going to listen to reason. But that had never stopped Myrna before, and she continued to plead her case.

  “It’s just not logical!”

  Simon raised an eyebrow. “Mayhaps not to you, but that’s not your concern, Myrna.” He sounded exasperated. Again. “Now just do your job and don’t try to fix something that ain’t broke!” And, with that, he walked away, leaving her alone to pout in the stockroom.

  No matter what she did, she always displeased someone! She didn’t understand why, though. All she wanted to do was to help. It was obvious that the shelves needed help, and so had that man at the grocery store! He was eating all the wrong things and needed her guidance. All those processed foods with high sodium and lots of preservatives—not to mention saturated fats!—would surely cause high blood pressure or heart disease. And, when she worked at the tea store before she was fired from the grocery store, she’d had to speak up when the woman tried to buy a teapot that was all wrong for an elderly relative. Ceramic was far too heavy for an old woman to lift when filled with water. She couldn’t help it if the woman had her mind set on that one, all because of the horse and buggy painted on the side.