I inhaled the aroma of browning sausage. “What are you making?”
“Zuppa Toscana.”
“Ach, that sausage smells so good.”
“That’s because it’s Italian.” She stirred her concoction of sausage, diced onions, garlic, and crushed red peppers. “Would you please wash and slice these potatoes for when I need them?”
“Of course. Anything you say.” Her good mood was infectious—exactly what I needed after a confused and sleepless night.
“I’ll add chicken stock and heavy cream later.” She kissed the air for effect. “Our customers will rave about it, I promise. You know, ten percent of the population in Lancaster County is of Italian descent. But Amish customers will love this soup too.”
“That’s news to me. I hadn’t heard that statistic.” I wondered if she were teasing me. “Are you sure?”
“Certo—absolutely. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if Stephen Troyer weren’t of Italian descent.”
“But he’s Mennonite, and his last name isn’t Italian.”
Her belly shook as she chuckled. “Stephen took his adoptive parents’ last name. He told me once he’d never met his father. I’d say he’s at least half Italian with that striking profile.”
“Really? You think he’s handsome?”
“What woman wouldn’t? But I’m afraid he’s too young for me.” She smirked. “It’s a shame he’s not Amish, Eva.” She raised her brows, as if she’d been watching Stephen and me out the window last night. The dogs had no doubt heard Stephen’s truck and our voices and had awakened her.
Reliving spending time with Stephen last night, I couldn’t remember when I had last laughed so hard or experienced so much fun. Later, when he walked me to my cabin, in my wild, impetuous mood, I might have kissed him on the lips if he’d tried. He’d lingered longer than seemed necessary. The electrical current zinging between us was not my imagination.
Urgent rapping on the back door ended my musings. I scuttled to open the door and found Olivia’s brother carrying her baked goods in a cardboard box. He set the box down hard and swung around to face me. “Have you seen Liv? Has she called you here?”
“She stopped by a couple of days ago.” I recalled my promise to her and now wished she hadn’t confided in me.
Her brother’s bearded face was stern, his eyes growing small. “If you know where she is, Eva, please tell me. Our parents are frantic.”
“I don’t know where she is.” That was the truth. “I’m sorry I can’t help you. I know she has a boyfriend, but I’ve never met him.”
He pinched between his eyes. “Did you encourage her to leave us?”
“Absolutely not! I never would.” The fact I might never see my dear cousin again filled me with despair. I didn’t have many women friends.
He expelled a weighty breath. “I’d best be on my way or I’ll be late to work.”
“Wait a minute.” I sniffed in the aroma of the baked goods. “Who did the baking this morning?” I didn’t want to let on that Olivia told me she’d have Emma bake.
“Our younger schweschder, Emma.”
I wouldn’t mention seeing Emma in Mark’s buggy last night, although I doubted anyone in her family would disapprove of Mark. Still, Amish couples liked to keep their dating habits confidential. “I hear she’s a fine cook. I’ll be delighted to try her whoopie pies today.”
He tossed me a blank look as if he weren’t listening. “My hunch is she knows where Olivia is, but Emma refuses to say a word. If she stops by later or calls here, please ask her, will ya?”
“Well, I don’t know. I’d better stay out of it. I need Emma’s help with the baked goods.”
His upper lip lifted into a snarl, but thankfully he didn’t state his opinion.
After he left, I told Beatrice and Sadie we had a new baker for now. “Olivia’s away.” Fortunately, neither of the women asked where Olivia had gone. I’d fibbed enough for one day.
Ten minutes later, Emma called from her family’s phone shanty and asked if her baking was up to Olivia’s caliber.
“Are ya happy with my whoopie pies?” Her voice sounded exuberant, not like a young woman whose older sister had run away from home, which puzzled me.
“Beatrice and I were going to sample one as soon as they arrived, but then we got too busy. I’m sure they’ll be as delicious as Olivia’s. She said you’re a fine cook.”
“She did? I’m so happy to hear that. Does this mean I’m hired?”
“Yah, Emma, you’re hired for a week to start, to produce our baked desserts. Can I count on you?” I imagined she was basking in her accolades.
“Yah, as long as my parents don’t nix the idea. But so far they’re happy with the arrangement because I won’t be working in a store with tourists.” She seemed a regular little chatterbox, not the little sister treading in Olivia’s shadow. I imagined spending time with Mark yesterday evening had boosted Emma’s ego. She’d probably been the envy of every young woman at the singing last night. But I wasn’t the least bit sorry I hadn’t attended.
“Will your bruder keep delivering the baked goods?” I asked.
“He said he would. If not, I’ll just have to find another man. Maybe Mark, who works for the nursery. You know which man I mean, right?”
“Yah. In fact, I can see him out the café’s window.” Fortunately, he didn’t glance my way as he passed by pushing an empty wheelbarrow.
Minutes later, Stephen strolled in. “Everything okay?”
“Yah.” I lowered my eyes in embarrassment. I assumed he felt the same way, as if we both regretted crossing the invisible boundary of propriety.
Only Beatrice seemed at ease and said, “Don’t keep us in suspense. Did Ralph return to the café last night?”
“No. And Wayne’s men staked out Bill Hastings’s place, but they didn’t see him there either.” Stephen finally glanced my way. “The bottom line is the police have pronounced Heath innocent. They think coyotes have been killing the man’s sheep.”
“Hurray!” I never thought I’d care for a canine. “Does
