she was not prepared for day in and night out of living with a man who saw little good in anyone or anything—including her and his own children.
The shop bell jangled and Pleasant sighed heavily as she wiped her hands on her apron and headed to the front of the store. “Did you need more doughnuts, Herr Troyer?” she asked as she stepped past the curtain separating the kitchen from the shop and saw Hilda standing there with all four of Pleasant’s children.
“Pleasant, you must do something with this girl,” her sister-in-law said as she pushed Bettina forward. “I am quite at my wit’s end.”
Chapter Three
“Bettina, are you all right? Has something happened?” Pleasant asked, coming around the counter and kneeling next to her daughter whose face was awash in silent tears.
“I didn’t know they had wandered off,” the girl said in a whisper as Pleasant wiped away her tears with the hem of her apron.
“Shhh,” Pleasant murmured. “It’s all right.”
“It is not all right,” Hilda thundered. “For it was your idea to give the child responsibility for making sure the twins are properly brought to my house before she and Rolf leave for school.”
On weekdays, when the bakery was busiest, the twins stayed with Hilda who had seven children of her own. On Saturdays, they spent their day at the bakery with Pleasant while Rolf and Bettina took care of chores at home.
“I wanted to get the wash hung before …” Bettina began.
Pleasant stood up so that she was eye to eye with Hilda. Merle’s sister had first watched over the children after their mother’s death, taking them in so that Merle could tend his celery fields. And even after Merle and Pleasant married, she had continued to insist that the children spend their days at her home, persuading Merle that it was asking too much of them to accept Pleasant right away. But when Pleasant had accepted this arrangement without question and gone back to helping her father in the bakery, Hilda had done a complete about-face, complaining to Merle that Pleasant was ignoring the children, not to mention her duties as his wife and the keeper of his house.
Pleasant kept one hand around Bettina’s shoulder as she tried to assure herself that only fear and panic would make Hilda speak so sharply in front of the children. “Hilda,” she said quietly, “the children are all safe. She’s only a girl and …”
“At her age their father was already working a paying job. At his age …” Hilda gestured toward Rolf. “He was …”
Pleasant touched her sister-in-law’s arm. “Hilda, please,” she murmured and was relieved when the woman swallowed whatever else she had been about to say.
Meanwhile, the twins had eased away from the drama and worked their way behind the counter where they had opened the sliding door of the bakery case and were helping themselves to some of the sweets that Jeremiah had not purchased. Bettina tugged on Pleasant’s skirt and nodded toward the boys.
“Stop that this instant,” Pleasant demanded as she moved quickly around the counter and picked up one twin under each arm like sacks of flour.
When she failed to take away the pastry each boy clutched, Hilda snorted. “You do them no favors by indulging them,” she huffed as Pleasant deposited both boys closer to the door.
“Tell your Aunt Hilda that you’re sorry for causing her worry and then apologize to your sister as well,” Pleasant instructed.
“Sorry,” Henry muttered even as he stuffed the last of his pastry into his mouth.
Pleasant grabbed an empty lard bucket she kept under the counter to collect waste and shoved it under Henry’s chin. “Spit it out,” she said in a voice that brooked no argument. The boy did as he was told and then burst into tears. Within seconds his twin had joined in the chorus and the racket they made was deafening.
Hilda threw up her hands. “Do you see what you’ve done?” she demanded and Pleasant prepared to defend her action until she saw that her sister-in-law had addressed this remark to Bettina.
Pleasant realized that if she didn’t do something at once, her father—or worse—any customer who came in was going to find the shop crowded with crying children. “Let’s all just calm down and have a nice glass of milk in the kitchen,” she suggested just as the bell above the door jangled.
“Ah, Frau Yoder,” Jeremiah Troyer said, ignoring the chaos of the overwrought children. “I thought that was you I saw coming down the road before.”
Beyond caring why Jeremiah Troyer had invaded the bakery for a third time that morning, Pleasant seized the opportunity to herd all four children into the kitchen. She noticed that all sign of tears and protests had abated the minute Jeremiah entered the bakery. The children seemed quite fascinated by him.
“Sit there and be quiet,” Pleasant said, indicating a long bench that ran along one wall. She was glad to see that even the twins seemed to recognize the limits of her patience. While she poured four glasses of milk and handed one to each child, she tried in vain to overhear the conversation taking place in the shop. Then she heard the opening and closing of the outer door and a moment later, Jeremiah stepped into the kitchen.
“May I have a word with Rolf, Frau Obermeier?” he asked.
“What about?” Pleasant asked.
Jeremiah gave her that maddening smile of his and tousled Rolf’s hair. “With your permission, Frau Yoder has suggested that he might be a candidate to help out at the ice cream shop.”
Rolf’s eyes widened with a mixture of such surprise, unadulterated joy and pleading that Pleasant’s heart sank. This was the most difficult part of being a parent. She was going to have to say no.
“I don’t believe that would be a good idea,” she said.
Rolf’s face fell but he said nothing. Jeremiah’s smile tightened. “I see. Perhaps this is not the right time.” He glanced at Bettina and the twins and seemed to focus on their tear-stained faces. “Forgive me for the intrusion, ma’am. We can discuss the matter later.” He nodded to the children and headed for the door.
“Wait a minute,” Pleasant said, hurrying after him.
He had opened the door and the bell was still vibrating when she caught up to him. “I know you mean well, Herr Troyer, but …”
“Are the children all right?”
Pleasant blinked up at him. “Yes, of course they are.” Why would he think otherwise? She saw a flicker of doubt cross his expression and felt her defenses go on alert. “Herr Troyer, please understand that Rolf has his schooling and chores at home and …”
“As do many other children.” The implication that other boys Rolf’s age were working or learning a trade was clear.
“The children are my responsibility,” Pleasant said tightly. “I will decide when the time is right that they should take on more than they must already manage.”
Jeremiah looked away for an instant, out the leaded glass of the bakery door. “Of course, you know best, but if I may offer an observation as someone who was once smaller and not nearly as strong as others my age?” He seemed to wait a beat for her to grant permission and when she said nothing, he continued, “Do not deny the boy the opportunity to find his place in the world.”
“He is only twelve,” Pleasant protested. “Besides, he will one day have his father’s farm to manage and …”
“I am not speaking of his life as an adult. I am speaking of his life now—the things that will surely shape the man he will one day become. There is a tempest building in that boy. A growing view of the world and those around him as unfair. He is fast approaching a crossroads where he will either accept his size as a challenge to be met or he will surrender himself to the belief that he has been unjustly punished.”