“Denki.”
“My bruder Mark works here too.”
“He’s quite popular with the young ladies,” Stephen said.
“Yah, he is.” Susie sent me a grin.
“But no time to chitchat right now,” Stephen informed her in a no-nonsense manner, as if he wanted her to get back to work. “We’re off to the café.”
As I followed Stephen down the steps, a black cat streaked across our path. I inhaled the heavenly aromas of sarcococca and daphne. The early-blooming flowers must be nearby. On either side of the pathway, pansies, bleeding hearts, and blooming hellebore grabbed my attention, along with many species I didn’t recognize. Clumps of miniature daffodils and tulips pressed their way through the earth. But there wasn’t time to investigate now.
I increased my speed to keep up with Stephen’s long legs. We strode by the main house and the enormous glass greenhouses I was dying to explore.
We passed several young, clean-shaven Amish men wearing straw hats. They spoke to Stephen in Deitsch, asking questions and listening to his instructions. I was surprised to hear him speaking to them in fluent Pennsylvania Dutch.
One of the young men tipped his hat at me and sent me a goofy grin that seemed flirtatious. But he was too young for me.
THREE
The nursery was magnificent, but nothing prepared me for the charm and eloquence of the café, which stood behind the last greenhouse. As I entered, I inhaled the fragrance of the tropical plants embellishing it. Near the entrance to the right-hand side was a raised fishpond with a small waterfall. About eight orange and speckled fish swam toward us as if without fear.
“Want a snack, fellas?” Stephen reached into a can, gathered a portion of pellets, and sprinkled them onto the water. The bold fish swished to the surface to gobble them up, causing the water to ripple. “These are Japanese koi,” he told me. “They’re consummate beggars, so don’t overfeed them.”
The spacious room was high ceilinged, and two of the walls were glass, allowing me to watch workers carrying plants or pushing wheelbarrows. Oak chairs clustered around a dozen tables. Ahead, an expansive glass case stood by a cash register. Half of the case was dedicated to salads, such as beet, coleslaw, and fruit, and the other half was filled with what could only be Olivia’s baked goods: whoopie pies stuffed with fluffy, whipped filling; fruit tarts; slices of zucchini bread; muffins; and carrot cake. My mouth watered as I stared into the case to admire the display of delectable items I’d never be able to make. I gulped. What had I gotten myself into?
Stephen stood at my side. “Olivia is still sending baked goods. Her brother delivers them on his way to work.”
“Wonderful.” I could hear too much enthusiasm and relief in my declaration. I steadied myself. “What other foods do you serve?”
“A soup of the day and cold sandwiches. See the chalkboard sign up there?”
I lifted my chin and caught sight of the framed board and the words Potato Soup in neat cursive writing. Below that was written Ham and Swiss on Rye. “Sounds gut.”
Stephen scanned the room. Two couples sat chatting at a table, and one man read a newspaper while sipping coffee. “Not many people in here right now,” he said, “but some days we get swamped.”
I noticed a low table off to the left with flatware, napkins, mugs, paper cups, a water dispenser, and a large coffee urn and carafe of hot water. The place seemed to be self-service for the most part. A stack of magazines and copies of the local newspaper fanned across a stout table.
Rock music suddenly blasted from the back of the building. I assumed it was emanating from the kitchen.
“What the—” Stephen’s flattened hand flew out. He ping-pinged on a low metal bell and then leaned over the counter. “Where is everyone? Sadie? Jennifer?”
The music fell silent. A moment later, two late-teen Amish girls poked their heads out from the kitchen.
“Someone must be on the floor or at the register at all times,” Stephen said. “And keep that radio turned off.”
Both girls tittered, their hands covering their mouths as they gulped down what appeared to be corn bread—a crumb adhered to one of the girls’ lower lip.
Stephen turned to me. “You see why I need an adult working here?”
I smiled, not wanting to seem mean to the two young ladies. But I was a mature adult compared to these girls.
“Can you make soup in the morning?” he asked me.
All the years of assisting Mamm as she prepared meals for the family were a gift to me now. She’d told me someday I’d need to know how to cook, meaning when I got married and raised a family. Now I felt foolish for not paying scrupulous attention. I’d have to thank her if I could pull off this charade.
“Yah, I can make soup if I have the ingredients.”
He frowned. “We have an odd problem in that area. No matter who places the food orders, we always seem to come up short. Inventorying will be part of your job. Our wholesale produce and meat man has a phone.”
“Okay. I can even bake bread if required.”
“No need. The bread’s delivered. You’ll need to inventory and put together an order to be brought in the next day.” He extended his arm. “Want to come in the kitchen and have a look?” He directed me around a corner to the area behind the register and glass case.
A lidded metal vat sat on a burner. “Taste the soup, will you?” he said.
I slid my hand into a pot holder, lifted the lid, and found a clean tablespoon. I brought a spoonful of the whitish liquid to my lips and swallowed the blandest soup I’d ever tasted.
I turned to the girls. “Who made this?” Sadie raised a timid
