A Simple Winter: A Seasons of Lancaster Novel Page 10

  Most of the patrons seemed to be watching Lovina as she finished her story with a satisfied nod. Remy met her gaze with a smile, then jotted a few notes in her journal so that she’d remember the details later.

  “Lovina, that story sounds better and better each time you tell it,” Mr. Kraybill said without looking up from his newspaper.

  “Practice makes perfect,” said one of the Amish girls working behind the counter. She looked young, barely a teenager, but she moved adeptly through the shop, carrying trays of tea things and dishing out pastries from the glass display case.

  “I heard it got its name because it was halfway between Philadelphia and Harrisburg,” said the bald man, the new grandfather.

  “Oh, I don’t know anything about that story,” Lovina said, waving him off with a grin, and the customers at the counter laughed.

  Such a friendly, homey atmosphere. Remy wished she knew of a shop like this in Philadelphia where she could be one of the regulars. As Remy sipped the last of her tea, one of the waitresses placed the check on the small round table.

  “Take as long as you like,” the young woman said.

  Remy turned over the check, which the waitress had signed: “Thanks! Hannah.” A nice personal touch. Remy summoned her nerve.

  “Actually, I have a question,” Remy said. Glancing up at the girl, who wore no makeup, her honey blond hair scraped back and tucked under a white bonnet, Remy had to force herself to look the girl in the eyes. It would be rude to stare at the unusual clothing—the crisp white bonnets, the dark dresses in rich hues of blue, green, and purple, pinned with black aprons. And yet, Remy wanted to soak up every detail of this new world. “About the farmers market.” Remy had read that although the Kings’ main source of income was their dairy farm, they also sold homemade quilts and cheese at various farmers markets. “I know it’s too cold for the outdoor market at the square.”

  The young woman nodded. “Oh, yes. Far too cold. You won’t see the market at the square open up until March or April, usually around Easter.”

  Remy’s heart sank with disappointment. “So Halfway doesn’t have a farmers market during the winter?”

  “Oh, there’s markets here and there. Some go into Philadelphia to the Reading Terminal Market. But on weekends, you’ll find most of Halfway at the Saturday market in Joseph Zook’s barn. It’s just down the road a ways.”

  Worth a shot, Remy thought as she thanked the waitress and left a hefty tip, grateful for her help.

  It didn’t take long to navigate through the town of Halfway, a combination of quaint shops with wooden porches and hand-painted signs mixed with the neon of newer stores and asphalt parking lots. Her progress was slowed for a time by an Amish carriage, its steel wheels rumbling on the paved road. The orange reflective triangle on the rear of the vehicle seemed to be a stark contrast to the old-fashioned carriage, but then she supposed safety was a priority.

  As it turned out, the carriage turned into the parking lot of the old red barn Hannah had mentioned. Remy pulled past an impressive line of buggies, all without horses, parked in a tidy row, and found a spot for her car in the side parking lot. She decided to leave her recorder and journal in the car, not wanting to appear too aggressive. A blustery wind kicked up just as she got out of the car’s warmth, and she quickly tugged on her leather jacket, hitched her bag onto her shoulder, and hurried to the barn door, where plastic sheets blocked the cold.

  Inside the market was a surprising array of wares. There were hand-painted signs for sorghum, apple butter, honey, cider, and popcorn. Remy passed tables of ceramics and stained glass, braided breads and jams. There was a long line in front of the Sweet ’N’ Simple Bakery table, and Remy stepped aside to let a graying man make his way through the crowd with a pie in each hand. One vendor sold lavender soaps and candles right next to a taxidermist, who had a real deer head on display to demonstrate the quality of his work.

  Remy’s stomach churned at the sight of the deer’s realistic, beseeching eyes. It was yet another reminder that Remy had entered a different world.

  Wishing she’d had a pastry at Ye Olde Tea Shop, she turned her back on the deer and scanned the vendors on this end of the barn.

  Immediately a display of quilts drew her attention; the deep emerald green provided the background for a vibrant royal purple diamond framed by lipstick red. Although Remy had just started researching quilts, she recognized the Diamond in the Square pattern that was unique to Lancaster County. While the pattern was simple, the bold, vivid colors hardly brought to mind the traditional lifestyle of the Amish. Another quilt pattern of a simple square outlined by alternating light and dark patches of orange and brown gave her the feeling of looking through an open window to a pumpkin patch.

  Could those be quilts made by the King women? One article had mentioned that while the family lived from their dairy farming, quilting was the business focus of the women in the family. Remy focused on the people working at the quilt table, searching for Adam’s face. At the moment, there were no men there, no little children either, but the vendors seemed to be quite fluid, with some working the crowd in front of the tables or chatting with other sellers. Hmm. Would families bring little kids to these things? The lavender vendor had held an infant in her arms, but what about toddlers? She knew Amish families prided themselves on working together, but would it require all eleven of the Kings to sell goods at a market?

  Moving with the crowd, she passed by an Amish popcorn vendor and two elderly women who sold rag dolls. At another table boasting GENUINE AMISH QUILTS she counted three girls, a teenager, and an elderly woman. The older woman, with silver hair and glasses to match, was talking with a fashionable shopper in black suede boots, tights, and a fake fur jacket. They seemed to be discussing how to customize a quilt to match the décor in her house.

  One of the girls, the only one to wear glasses, was lost in a book, but the other girls, who looked to be her sisters, seemed to be adept salespeople, chatting up passersby, pointing out stitching details on the quilts.

  Could they be part of the King family?

  Remy thought she could pick out two of the girls as twins. The others … yes, the older teen might be Sadie … too young for Mary. And the girl with the knowing manner, the attitude of an adult with the body of a child, that might be Ruth.

  But if this was the King family, where was Adam? She needed to connect with him today. She was counting on him. She needed this interview.

  With the women at the table all engaged in conversation, Remy paused before the dancing patterns of form and color in the sample quilts. From far away the hues drew her in with fiery reds, royal purples, spring lavender, bold blues, and the brown of creamy chocolate.

  “Hello.” The teenage girl appeared beside the quilt, her smile revealing dimples and clear amber eyes. “Can we help you find something? You look a little lost.”

  Remy started to open her mouth, but hesitated when she lost her balance and swayed to one side. What a time to start feeling sick. “I’m actually looking for someone … a friend.” Steadying herself against the table, Remy got a closer view of the quilt, with its stitches forming small flowers and star patterns. So lovely. “His name is Adam King.”

  “That’s my brother.” The young woman cocked her head, her eyes curious. “But he doesn’t have Englisher friends. At least, not anymore.”

  “We met last year.…” Like a fizzling television screen, Remy’s vision began to blur. “Wow. I’m sorry.” She steadied herself against their table.

  “You okay?” the teenage girl asked.

  “Just a little dizzy,” Remy managed to say as the buzz of noise closed around her. “Sometimes I get these seizures, but … I don’t think this is one of them.”

  “Kumm. Let her sit,” barked an older woman’s voice.

  With her hands pressed to her temples, Remy wasn’t quite sure how it all transpired, but a moment later she sat in a folding chair, shielded from the crowd by the lovely hanging quilt. O
ne of the girls was handing her a paper cup of water, while the smallest one patted her shoulder.

  “I think you’ll be okay,” she said, her lips pursed in an expression of concern.

  “Thank you. I … I didn’t eat breakfast and …” When was the last time she’d gotten a good night’s sleep? Or a decent meal? Remy pinched the bridge of her nose. It was her own fault. She was responsible for taking care of herself.

  “She needs something to eat.”

  “I think she’s sick. Adam’s friend is sick.” The youngest one put her face close to Remy’s. “Do you want some cheese?” she asked, her eyes alight with concern.

  Remy knew she needed something. “That sounds good.”

  “Get the samples.” The oldest girl waved someone over to her, and a paper plate stacked with cheddar cubes loomed before Remy’s face. “Give her some space, Ruthie,” the teenaged girl said.

  Even in her daze, Remy heard the name Ruthie. Adam’s little sister. At least she’d landed in the right place, but where was Adam?

  Remy stabbed some cheese with a toothpick and popped it in her mouth. “Delicious,” she said. It was smooth and buttery-tasting.

  “It’s made with milk from our cows, but they turn it into cheese at Uncle Nate’s farm,” said one of the twins.

  Ruthie was back in her face. “What’s your name?”

  “Remy. Remy McCallister.”

  Ruth squinted. “I don’t know that name.”

  “Well, my real name is Rebecca.…”

  “Oh, we know lots of Rebeccas,” one of the girls said.

  “But my parents called me Remy,” she explained, head in her hands. “After a place in France. A place that’s famous for its cognac.”

  Ruthie nodded, then asked, “What’s a cone yak?”

  The girl at the end of the table put her book down to explain. “A yak is a bovine animal found in the Himalayan Mountains of Asia.”

  Hiding a smile, Remy focused on breathing as their conversation washed over her. At the end of the table, the older woman seemed to be in charge of taking orders, while the other girls spoke in Pennsylvania Dutch, their words a soothing background for Remy to relax.

  “How are you feeling?” Ruthie asked, patting Remy’s shoulder.

  “Ruthie, leave the poor girl alone.” Referring a customer to the old woman, the teenaged girl hurried over. “Don’t feel rushed. Can we get you something else?”

  “I’m feeling much better.” Remy sighed and pulled herself up straight in the chair. “That was a little scary, but it’s passed. I’m thinking I should get some lunch before I eat all your samples up.”

  “But we don’t mind,” one of the twins said. “The cows just make more milk. Twice a day, every day!”

  Remy smiled. “I appreciate your help. You didn’t tell me your names.”

  “I’m Sadie,” the oldest girl volunteered. “That bookworm down at the end is Leah, and over there is her twin, Susie. Ruthie’s the one in your face. And that’s our grandmother, Nell King, down at the end. That’s probably more names than you ever want to know.”

  “I’ll be sure to remember the names of the girls who saved my skin,” Remy said, darting a glance at the stuffed deer that had started the whole episode. “I’m really grateful. Thank you.” She smiled, glad for their help. “But I was hoping to speak with Adam. Is he here?”

  “He’s around here somewhere,” Ruthie said.

  “I can help you find him,” Sadie volunteered. “And didn’t you want to get some food?”

  “Right.” Food first, then Adam.

  As Remy and Sadie strolled through the market, Sadie seemed relieved to have time away from the other girls, and she talked nonstop about shoes, music, and her rumspringa, which had given her time to explore shoes and music. Sadie had a job at a local motel and a boyfriend. “An Englisher,” Sadie announced proudly. “He loves my long hair. Frank thinks I’m beautiful. He helped me get a little cell phone that I charge when I’m at work. And an iPod. Do you have one? It means I can have music in my ear, whenever I’m alone.”

  So many personal details in a short burst of time. “Sounds like Frank is a nice guy.” Remy sensed that Sadie craved attention outside the Amish community. “Has your family met him?” Remy asked.

  “Oh, no! They don’t want to know about Frank. I’m supposed to be dating Amish boys, looking for a suitable husband, but that’s all so boring.”

  When Remy was seventeen, most of the things her father wanted her to do were equally “boring.” She supposed it was a rite of passage.

  As Sadie rambled on, an open book, Remy considered asking her for an interview. The girl would probably say yes. But then would she think Remy was just being nice to get her story? That would be awful. Already Remy could tell that the teenaged girl looked up to her, and Remy didn’t want to do anything that would violate her trust.

  Discouraged by the long line for sandwiches, Remy perked up when she spotted a sign for Nancy’s Nutty Muesli Bars. “I can’t believe they have Nancy’s bars here. Have you ever had them?”

  “Sure. Nancy Briggs is the mayor of Halfway, and she always gives out samples. She says word of mouth makes the best advertising.”

  Now that Sadie mentioned it, Remy remembered Adam saying that he knew Nancy.… The topic came up when she gave him a muesli bar. If she were a better reporter, she would have remembered a detail like that. From now on, she was going to collect notes in her journal at the end of each day.

  Over at Nancy’s stand they helped themselves to samples of a peanut bar and a new one made from almonds and dates. Remy filled a box with a dozen assorted bars, then joined Sadie, who was holding a place in line.

  “That’s Nancy.” Sadie nodded to the petite woman who was working the cash box. Nancy Briggs’s salt-and-pepper hair was styled to swirl around her face, yet she wore the clothes of a hiker: black boots, brown pants with plenty of pockets, a flannel shirt, and a down vest. Except for her coiffed hair, she looked as if she could have hiked the Adirondacks that morning.

  “What can I do for you today?” Nancy squinted. “Sadie King? I haven’t seen Simon in the shop since the weather turned nasty. How’s he doing?”

  “Better. Denki for asking.”

  Wide-eyed, Remy waited to see if any more information about Simon was forthcoming, but the conversation seemed to be over. “I’d like to buy these, please.” She handed over the box. “And I just wanted to tell you how many times Nancy’s Nutty Bars have saved my life.”

  “A satisfied customer!” Nancy clapped her hands together. “That’s what I like to hear.”

  “I’ve eaten them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner,” she told the older woman.

  “Well, that’s a little excessive. Wholesome and delicious is one thing, but you need to vary your diet.” Nancy’s eyes twinkled as she looked Remy over. “Especially a twig of a thing like you.”

  With her twinkling eyes and direct manner, Nancy Briggs was very likable. Remy wondered what it was like to be the mayor of a town where the majority of the residents were Amish, and therefore not involved in politics. And would the mayor give her a statement regarding last year’s murders and the impact on the town? Remy thought it was worth pursuing later, in a more private setting.

  For now, she needed to find Adam.

  TWELVE

  dam was talking with Ben Lapp, the two of them catching a breath of fresh air in the wide doorway, away from the smells of popcorn and buttered pretzels, when he saw the van move through the parking lot. Streaked with bright blue and green stripes and emblazoned with the giant letters WPHL, the van obviously belonged to a news station.

  He rubbed his chin, hoping that he was wrong. Just because journalists were calling the sheriff about his family didn’t mean that the Kings were the only people of interest in the town of Halfway. Turning back to Ben, he motioned the older man away from the door and got back to the conversation.

  “You can tell Nell and Mary we’ll be needing two double-size
d quilts come the spring,” Ben Lapp was saying. Since Ben and Debbie Lapp had opened the Halfway Inn five years ago, they had ordered all their quilts from Mamm, and Adam had been grateful when Ben called him over to let him know he’d be wanting more.

  “I’ll tell my grandmother. The girls will want to start right away, since there’s more time to quilt during winter months.” As he spoke, Adam led Ben farther from the door. “Is there a pattern or color you want?”

  “Debbie would be the one to speak with on design. I steer clear of choices like that, especially with the inn. She likes things just so for the customers.”

  “A wise man, you are,” Adam said.

  “Debbie will speak with Nell to work out the details.”

  “Very good.” When Adam turned back to nod at the man, he saw them.

  A camera crew.

  Adam froze at the sight of them: a man in blue jeans and a puffy vest with a fat camera balanced on his shoulder, and a second man in a bright blue sweater, with tanned skin and eyes that seemed to be circled in dark crayon.

  They were being escorted by Chris Mueller, an Englisher neighbor who worked security for Halfway’s farmers markets. Chris was responsible for keeping order and peace, but he didn’t have the authority to turn these guys away. Too bad.

  “Was ist los? What’s wrong?” The lines at the outer edges of Ben’s eyes deepened. “You look like you just saw the devil himself.”

  “A camera crew just walked in. Television reporters. I hope I’m wrong, but they might be wanting to ask me about all the troubles we’ve tried to put behind us since … since last year.”