A Place of Peace by Amy Clipston

I’ll be up front.”
    They sat in a comfortable silence for several minutes, staring out across the field. Miriam contemplated Zach’s words, stunned by them. If only she cared for him the way he did for her. However, her feelings for him weren’t romantic; they were loyal friendship and deep respect. She couldn’t imagine courting him, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to stay in Lancaster County. She appreciated that he wasn’t pressuring her for an answer. She valued his friendship and didn’t want to lose it because she didn’t want to court him.
    When the sun began to set, Zach stood. “I guess I should let you get some rest. You can’t show up to your first day of work yawning.”
    Miriam followed him down the stairs to his buggy.
    “You still owe me supper,” he said with a smile while yanking open the buggy door.
    “I promised to call you, but I never promised supper.”
    “Since you haven’t called, I now expect a call and supper,” he said. “If I don’t hear from you in a few days, I’ll show up on your doorstep and demand my supper.”
    She chuckled. “I imagine you will.”
    He climbed into the buggy and leaned out the window. “Think about what I said.”
    She nodded. “I will.
Danki
for coming to visit.”
    “Gern gschehne.”
Reaching out, he touched her nose.
“Gute nacht.”
    “Gute nacht, mei freind.”
She smiled as he drove off toward the road.

9
    M iriam’s Honda bounced along the road leading to the Kauffman Amish Bakery. The terrain was hilly, and the roads were winding and rural. Soon she spotted a farm with a cluster of large houses set back off the road and surrounded by four barns, along with a beautiful lush, green pasture.
    The property was owned by Elizabeth and Eli Kauffman, Timothy’s parents. Her stomach roiled when she spotted the home Timothy had built in anticipation of his marriage to her. Nearby was the home Sarah Rose had shared with her late husband, Peter. The bakery was the fourth house, the one closest to the road. Timothy and his five siblings grew up in the biggest house, where his parents still lived.
    Miriam steered her gray Honda down the dirt road and nosed it into the large parking lot in front of the large, white clapboard farmhouse with a sweeping wraparound porch. A tall sign with “Kauffman Amish Bakery” in old-fashioned letters hung above the door.
    Out behind the building was a fenced-in play area, and beyond that was an enclosed pasture. The three other large farmhouses and four barns were set back beyond the pasture. The dirt road leading to the other homes was roped off with a sign declaring “Private Property—No Trespassing.” A large paved parking lot sat adjacent to the bakery.
    After pulling her small sedan into a parking space, Miriam turned off the engine and gripped the steering wheel. Glancing down, she examined her black dress, symbolizing her mourning of her mother, and black apron. How ironic she was dressed Amish and driving a car. She’d considered asking to borrow a horse and buggy from her father, but she doubted she would get any help from him or her brother. Without any help, she had no choice but to rely on her own transportation. Besides, the drive would take much longer by buggy than by car.
    For now, she would have to be a driving anomaly. Since most of the Amish paid full-time
English
drivers to take them to and from work, she would consider asking for a ride from Jessica or one of their other drivers once she got to know her better.
    Taking a deep breath, Miriam climbed from the car, locked it, and slipped the keys into the inside pocket of her apron. She then crossed the parking lot and climbed the back steps of the bakery.
    Memories of her visits to the bakery with Timothy assaulted her mind. He had often brought her here to enjoy a delicious dessert and visit with his sisters. She’d cherished those times, sitting at a little wrought iron table on the wraparound porch, enjoying whoopie pies and