“I already have, and I couldn’t care less. You know how wagging tongues pollute the air. We are admonished not to gossip, but that doesn’t stop some people from poking their noses where they don’t belong. We’re all sinners, yah?”
“Most of the gossip isn’t true, but not everything said about me is a lie. For instance, I’m almost thirty years old.”
He appeared unruffled. “You look much younger, and you’re beautiful.” He gazed into my face until I looked away. “I’m twenty-four,” he said. “A mature adult.”
Ach, I didn’t wish to say something callous and hurt his feelings. “Well, you’re far younger than I am.” I couldn’t believe we were having this conversation. “How about Sadie? I think she’s sweet on you.”
“She’s not my type. Too skittish, like a colt.” He stepped forward until I had to look into his eyes. “Please forgive me if I’m coming on too strong. Maybe you don’t find me attractive, but I’m determined to win your affections.”
The lowering sun cast a salmon glow across his face. He had a fine-looking face, I had to admit. But I couldn’t help comparing him to Jake, who would always hold a place in my heart. I wondered if Mark knew Jake. Growing up in the area, the two of them might have crossed paths.
I descended the steps, and we strolled toward the house’s back porch. The door swung open with a flourish as if Beatrice had been waiting just inside. A cloud of scrumptious warm air floated out, making my mouth water.
“Don’t be shy.” Beatrice’s mouth curved up into an impish grin. “Come inside, you two.”
The black cat flew into the kitchen as Beatrice shook her finger and scolded the dogs in a flurry of Italian.
Mark and I ascended the steps. “After you.” He waited for me to enter the house first. He was a gentleman too. Why was I being so standoffish?
“Wait until you taste my spaghetti and meatballs,” Beatrice called out from inside. “Mama’s recipe from the old country is deliziosa.” Which I assumed meant “delicious” in Italian. “You won’t find this at the Olive Garden.”
I scuffed my shoes on the welcome mat before stepping inside. The kitchen was stylishly updated with frosted-glass-faced cupboards, granite counters, and brushed aluminum appliances. Above the stove hung an impressive assortment of pans. A panini maker also resided on the counter.
“This house is mighty fancy,” Mark said. He scanned the counter with its Cuisinart and electric toaster.
I inhaled the savory aroma of simmering tomato sauce, garlic, basil, and ground beef. The round table was set for three. Flowered cloth napkins and decorative plates—from Orvieto in Tuscany, Beatrice said—looked festive. A block of Parmesan cheese sat on a wooden cutting board next to a grater. A chunky loaf of Italian bread waited on a wooden board alongside a serrated knife. Water in a large metal pot simmered, sending a steamy cloud to the ceiling.
“We’ll eat right here in the kitchen if you don’t mind.” Beatrice took Mark’s straw hat and hung it on a hook next to several baseball caps that must have belonged to Glenn. “Make yourself comfortable while I put in the pasta.” She glided to the stove and slid straight noodles into the pot of bubbling water.
I scanned the room. A pie on the counter emitted a fruity aroma with browned-to-perfection dough.
“Glenn and his wife received fancy china and silverware as wedding presents, but we’ll use their everyday plates and flatware.” I had imagined a stilted conversation, but Beatrice acted lively, chattering about how much she’d enjoyed working in the café even though she missed Glenn and Rose’s wee ragazza, whom she described as bellissima, I assumed to mean “beautiful.”
“The little girl’s name is Emmy. She was born a month early, and the doctor insisted she stay in the hospital for a week. Poor Glenn and Rose were frantic. That’s when they hired me to live on the third floor to keep an eye on her. She’s like a grandchild to me now.”
I was glad Beatrice was in such a loquacious mood. It saved me from having to fabricate a subject when all I wanted to do was eat and then retreat to my cabin.
Beatrice was a gracious hostess and would not let me help serve or clear the table. After we all consumed her marvelous spaghetti, she sliced into the pie. Its crust was so flaky I was tempted to take a second piece when she offered it, but I’d promised myself not to gain weight while working in the café.
She dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “Eva, now that you’re living in a new district, you simply must attend a singing.”
“What?” I felt like an opossum stuck in the middle of a road. “I haven’t been to one of those for years.”
“All the more reason to go. Don’t you want to lift up your voice in song and praise the Lord?” She turned to Mark. “You could drive her home, couldn’t you?”
He seemed to grow taller in his chair. “Yah, absolutely. And give her a ride there too, unless she has other plans.”
I tried to think up excuses. “People might think we’re dating.”
“Would that be so terrible, Eva?” Beatrice said.
“I might go to my parents’ this Sunday. This will be their district’s nonpreaching week. They’ll be entertaining or visiting neighbors.”
“Please reconsider, Eva.” Mark’s eyes pleaded. “If you like, I can tell everyone I’m just giving you a ride out of convenience because you’re living here.”
Did he not understand the word no?
Beatrice pushed her chair away from the table. “Then it’s all settled. Mark will drive you, Eva.”
“Nothing’s settled yet, thank you.” I stood to clear the dessert dishes. To change the subject, I asked, “Are the Yoders coming home this Saturday?”
“No, a week from Saturday.”
“I’m happy for them,” Mark said.
