“The Yoders have hunds?” The backs of my knees weakened.
“Yes, three of them.”
Since childhood, I’d been afraid of dogs. When I was five, our neighbor’s German shepherd bit my leg and sent me to the emergency room for stitches. I hadn’t been able to shake the bone-deep fear—the feeling of pain and helplessness. Dat and Mamm had never owned a dog. Only a bushel of barn cats my brother and I had loved to cuddle as children.
Stephen must have recognized trepidation in my demeanor. “They’re all friendly.”
If I’d known dogs were running around the nursery, I wouldn’t have accepted the job. But I dared not voice my concerns.
FOUR
Near three o’clock, a young Amish man strolled into the café. Removing his hat, he zoomed in on me. “Are you Eva?”
“Yah.” I recognized him as the guy with the goofy grin. Although he seemed at ease.
“I’m Mark.” He extended his hand to shake mine. “Stephen asked me to give you a quick tour of the nursery before it gets dark.” His face was thin, and his features were refined in a way many women would appreciate.
He glanced around at the empty tables. “Sadie and Jennifer know how to close up by themselves.” They nodded and grinned at him, making me think they both found him good looking. Which I guess he was, what with those smoky-green eyes. But he must be five years my junior, and I felt no zing of attraction.
I did want to see the nursery, but I hesitated when I noticed two large, brown Labrador retrievers had accompanied him and waited by the front door of the café.
This was a day I would overcome a multitude of my fears, I told myself as I followed Mark. The dogs wagged their tails. But then one barked, startling me and sending spikes of adrenaline down my arms and legs.
“That’s Missy, Heath’s muder. Heath’s large but still a pup inside.” Mark must have noticed my reticence just as Stephen had. “They belong to the owner, and they’re both very friendly. They even sleep in his house at night.”
I put out one hand, and Missy licked my fingertips. I dried my hand on her silky coat and then pet her son, Heath, a boisterous canine who seemed to want to jump on me.
“Nee, no jumpin’.” Mark kneed him away, saving my dress and apron from muddy paws. “He still needs a bit of training.” Mark turned to me. “The customers don’t appreciate it either.”
I shadowed him onto a flagstone path anchored by moss and lined with decorative containers displaying original and attractive combinations of flowers. We strolled under a trellis cloaked with coral-colored climbing rosebuds intertwined with wine-colored clematis. More than ever I wanted to work out here in the nursery. The combination of aromas—newly watered plants, mulch, and fertilized soil—was intoxicating under the setting sun. Not that I’d ever been drunk. Heavens no. One time I took a sip from Jake’s bottle of beer. I found the drink offensive and knew my parents and their bishop would disapprove even if I was in rumspringa and not yet baptized.
As I trailed Mark into the retail shop, I watched half a dozen chickadees and flashy scarlet cardinals descend on a feeder hanging from a nearby pole. They were having a dandy time, tittering and chirping and picking out the sunflower seeds. I smiled and lifted my chin, attempting to appear confident when in fact the opposite was true.
We entered the smallish building made of gray stone. One interior wall was bedecked with rakes, shovels, clippers, saws, and gloves. There was hardly a square inch of vacant space. The opposite wall displayed rubber boots, gloves, clogs, hoses, and watering cans. At the far end stood a collection of flowerpots: ceramic, metal, and cement crafted to look like stone. A rack displayed packets of seeds. It was all an orderly profusion I’d love to investigate.
An Amish woman about twenty years my senior stood at the register ringing up bags of daffodil bulbs for a customer.
“Denki,” the salesclerk said.
“Gem gschehne, Bess,” said the young woman, and then she departed.
The round-faced saleswoman was adjusting her white heart-shaped head covering when she noticed Mark and me.
“Bess, I’d like you to meet our new café manager, Eva Lapp.”
The title still struck me as ludicrous, but I shaped my lips into a smile.
Bess smoothed the front of her black apron and then extended her small hand to shake mine. “Glad to meet ya, Eva. I hope you’ll be happy here.”
“I’m sure I will be.”
A catalog lay on the counter with a photo of the owner’s house gracing the cover. Clumps of daisies crowded the foreground, a hammock hung beneath the maple tree, and a black cat posed on the railing of the wide front porch. Behind the home, I knew, crouched my new abode.
Stephen sauntered into the shop and handed me a ring of keys. “I nearly forgot to give you these. One is for the café—both the front and back doors—and the other is for the cabin.”
I handed him a slip of paper with some needed items for the café’s kitchen. “I wasn’t sure where to put this.”
“Best to leave your list here where I’m sure to see it.” He turned to Bess. “Would you call this in right now?”
“Certainly.” She scanned the list and nodded her approval.
“Next week you can start calling in the food order yourself, Eva. It’ll be one less thing for Bess and me to do.”
“Glad to.” I knew I should be pleased that he trusted me, but I still felt unsure. I must do everything I could to make myself a necessity. If this job didn’t work out, then what?
After Mark excused himself and left, I glanced out the window and noticed the sky’s color was draining. “If you don’t mind, I’ll go and unpack,” I said to Stephen.
“Of course. Can you find your way?”
“Yes, as long as I can see the
