“Thank you,” Noelle said.
After the two had left but before Noelle could even take off her coat, Dat asked exactly who Holly and Carlos were.
“They have a booth at the market. Well, Holly does. Carlos drops her off and picks her up. Salome knows them.”
“But why are they giving you a ride home?”
“They offered,” Noelle said. “It saves us money.”
“What do you know about them?”
Noelle exhaled. What was Dat getting at? “They live here in Lancaster County. They both go to the community college. Their mother went to help their grandmother.”
“So they’re unsupervised?”
“They’re living on their own.” Noelle frowned. “Oh, and they go to a Mennonite church.”
Dat harrumphed. “A liberal one, if they go at all.”
“Why would they lie about that?”
Dat shuffled toward his chair. “Maybe they want to win your trust.”
She wasn’t used to challenging Dat, not like some of her sisters had through the years. Instead of saying anything more, even though she longed to, she washed her hands and focused on their supper. She heated up the stew from the night before even though Dat hated leftovers. She couldn’t work all day at the market and fix supper too. He’d have to make do.
He didn’t complain, but he didn’t thank her either. In fact, he didn’t speak at all through the entire meal.
After she’d cleaned up the dishes, she opened up the box of chocolates from Holly. They were miniature candles. Noelle offered one to Dat. He popped it in his mouth and then said, “How about another one?”
She smiled, took one for herself, and gave him the box.
The chocolate was good—even better than the Advent calendar chocolates. There were nine in the box, and Holly sold them for six dollars. Noelle couldn’t imagine that the ingredients cost much or that making the chocolates took too much time. Jah, the boxes and packaging cost something, but Holly was making good money, especially considering how many she sold.
LuAnne had bought two boxes of chocolates, which was a significant amount of money for her. If a frugal Amish housewife would spend twelve dollars on mini chocolates, what would an Englisch woman spend on . . .
Noelle didn’t need to do any baking that night, but she would anyway. She had an idea she couldn’t ignore.
CHAPTER FOUR
Noelle arrived bleary-eyed at the market the next morning. She led the way, carrying a cardboard box, while Pamela trailed behind with more on the dolly. As Noelle turned down the aisle toward her booth, she heard Jesse’s laugh before she saw him.
Then Holly’s.
She groaned.
The two were at Holly’s booth, chatting away.
Once Noelle had all of the product in the booth, she started pulling out the boxes of mini whoopie pies she’d made the night before. Jesse, without saying anything to her, returned to his booth.
But Holly craned her neck and then scurried across the aisle. “What in the world?”
Noelle held up one of the boxes. She’d packed a dozen in a box, visible through the clear lid, and then tied a red ribbon around it.
“Those are so cute,” Holly gushed. “What a great idea.”
“I got it from you,” Noelle admitted.
Holly cocked her head questioningly.
“From your mini chocolates.” She lowered her voice. “The ones Englischers are happy to pay top dollar for.”
Holly threw back her head and laughed. “Glad my marketing is helping yours.”
“Well, we’ll have to see how I do.”
The bells rang and soon the first of the customers started coming through. Within the first half hour, Noelle had sold three of the boxes of the mini whoopie pies. Soon after that, Steve, the manager, came by. “I thought you might be the purveyor of those little wonders.” He nodded toward the whoopie pies as he reached for his wallet.
“I’ll give you a box of them,” Noelle said.
“Oh no you won’t.” He pulled out a bill. “If Salome found out, she’d be after me. You giving me that pie was more than you should have.” He handed her a ten. “Keep the change.”
“Denki,” Noelle said. She was selling the mini whoopie pie boxes for eight dollars each, which seemed absurd. If they didn’t all sell, she’d lower the price tomorrow.
“I have to say . . .” Steve held the box close. “That apple pie you gave me was delicious. My wife said to tell you thank you.”
“I’m glad she liked it.”
He held up the mini whoopie pies. “My girls are going to love these too.”
Noelle smiled as he continued walking by. He seemed like a nice man, and as if he’d be a good father. And husband.
By noon she’d sold all of the boxes of whoopie pies. After that she sold a few more pies and batches of sticky buns but not much. At quitting time, she counted her money. She’d definitely had her best day yet. She’d go home and make more of the whoopie pies—and maybe some other “mini” items too.
When Holly and Carlos dropped her off, she simply said she could carry the boxes. Perhaps Dat’s behavior from the night before had been obvious because Holly stayed in the truck while Carlos helped her carry her boxes, but he left them outside the door. She thanked him and then began moving them inside one at a time.
Dat slept in his chair, his white hair and beard both tousled. She stared at him for a long moment. She knew that men often declined in health after their wives died. Was that happening with Dat? It seemed he was sleeping more and eating less. Except for the chocolate the night before, he hadn’t had much of an appetite.
She took off her coat and heated supper before waking him.
“Dat,” she said, “time to eat.” He stirred but didn’t open his eyes. She put a hand on his shoulder. He still didn’t open his eyes.
She stared at his chest as she yelled, “Dat!” Again he stirred and his chest rose and fell, just a little. He wasn’t dead. But she couldn’t wake him either.
She dashed to the front door, grabbed her coat, stepped into her boots, and
