The flashy six-inch fish, tame and hungry, slammed to the surface and gobbled up the pellets. The children were fascinated and delighted but then turned surly again when I told them that’s all the fish food I could give them. “We can’t feed them too much at a time,” I tried to explain, but I was met with frowns and the stomping of feet. Even their mothers glared at me.
Stephen and Mark chose that moment to enter the café. I was sorely tempted to tell them this situation was not my fault. Those youngsters were misbehaving and should know better. But this statement would conflict with the notion that the customer was always right.
As I brought out crayons and paper to entertain the children, one of the boys tripped and knocked over a potted palm. The four-foot-tall tree plummeted to the floor, and its dirt scattered everywhere.
The boy yowled, and one of the women rushed over to console him. But she didn’t offer to clean up the mess or pay for the palm. She glowered at me as if I could’ve prevented the accident.
“This place isn’t child friendly,” she said to her friends in a huff. “Let’s go somewhere else.” The remaining women jolted to their feet and gathered their belongings. The other customers all gave one another a knowing look, as if the children’s unruly behavior had interfered with their peaceful interlude.
Broom and dustpan in hand, Beatrice came up behind me as the women were leaving, children in tow. “Whatever you do, don’t tell them to come back again soon.”
I tried to take the broom, but she insisted she’d get assistance repotting the palm.
“Here, Beatrice, let me help you.” Mark stepped forward and took hold of the broom. Behind him trailed a younger Amish laborer, already scooping up the palm and the debris.
“Thanks, Mark,” Beatrice said.
Mark aimed his words at me. “This café may be open to the public, but you don’t have to put up with such hooligans.”
“It wasn’t Eva’s fault,” Beatrice said. “Was she ever instructed on how to handle situations like this?”
“Should we put up a sign saying, No obnoxious, out-of-control children allowed?” Stephen gave Mark’s shoulder a slap.
“Not such a bad idea.” Beatrice chortled into her hand.
Minutes after the floor was swept and mopped, a customer dropped a ceramic mug full of coffee, its contents and shards scattering across the newly cleaned surface. This was apparently going to be a trying day.
“Maybe God is warning me not to go to the Millers’ tonight,” I whispered to Beatrice.
“Don’t be silly.” Beatrice grabbed a mop and commenced gathering the broken pieces into a pile. “We have accidents and mishaps every other day. If you want the Lord’s protection and guidance, ask for it.”
She was right. Just a couple of days ago, Sadie had spilled a bottle of olive oil, and I didn’t bat an eye. My own apprehension was the catalyst for my anxiety.
As the day and customers waned, Beatrice, Stephen, and I stood outside the café’s front door to enjoy the fresh air, alive with the aromas of spring blooms. And for privacy.
“Are you still driving us over to the Millers’ tonight?” Beatrice asked Stephen.
“Yes, I’ll stick around after work. There’s always something to keep me occupied. You two let me know when you’re ready.”
Several hours later, getting into Stephen’s pickup, I encouraged Beatrice to sit in the center of the bench seat. But she refused, saying the pickup was too hard to climb into and then scoot all the way to the middle.
Minutes later, I was sandwiched between Stephen and Beatrice, and we were on the road. A chiming sound repeated itself.
Stephen leaned in front of me to speak to Beatrice. “Please fasten your seat belt.”
“Sorry.” She clipped it on and then spoke past me to Stephen. “Thanks so much for this ride. I hope you behave yourself.”
“You mean if Jake antagonizes me?” His face was too close to mine for comfort.
“I doubt he will, but yes,” she said. “That’s exactly what I mean.”
Stephen let out a resounding breath. “I promise to ignore Jake if he’s there. Let’s hope he isn’t. Or he’s busy with chores.”
“Thank you.” Beatrice folded her hands in her lap. “Ruth and Amos don’t need hostile conversations.”
On the drive over, I pondered how much I cared for Amos and Ruth, as if they were family. No matter if Jake deserted them and me, I would continue to visit. If Brandy didn’t mind and make a fuss. She might be a hindrance, to say the least. Or maybe a blessing to them.
“I hope Jake doesn’t think you’re running after him,” Beatrice told me. In front of Stephen, no less. I was mortified.
He turned to me. “I’m not chauffeuring Evie all the way over there so she can flaunt herself at Jake.” Stephen lowered his mouth toward my ear. “Let me share a little secret. Men are most intrigued by what they can’t have.”
Chasing after Jake had never worked in the past, that was the truth. I looked up to see what Stephen was getting at, but he changed the subject. “I heard some women in the retail shop talking about Olivia. Guess one of them saw her at the grocery store last night. According to this woman—and she’s a good customer—Olivia’s hair is lopped short and styled in an unsightly way. The woman said she couldn’t believe the total transformation. She claimed she spoke to Olivia, who seemed pleased as punch with herself, as she put it.”
Beatrice remained silent and stared out the window as we passed a buggy. I imagined the wheels in her
