Summer of Secrets by Charlotte Hubbard Page A

room.”
    “ Jah , and he’s got eyes for only Rachel, ain’t so? Always has.” Rhoda took out cartons of eggs and a jug of milk, her expression thoughtful. “I’m in the mood for bacon and flapjacks this mornin’. Could mash those spotty-ripe bananas and add some walnuts to the batter ...”
    Miriam smiled. This daughter had a true talent for creating wonderful- gut meals out of whatever food she found—a gift she’d certainly use, if ever she’d settle down and start a family. “So who’s got eyes for you these days, honey-bug?”
    “ Ach , Mamma! Do ya think I’d tell ya if I knew?” Rhoda flashed a teasing grin over her armload of groceries.
    “Ain’t like you’re sixteen anymore. And the fellas seem to flock around the new crop of courtin’-age girls—”
    “The frolic yesterday was proof of that, for sure and for certain. Not a one of those expectant mammas was yet eighteen.” She began mashing the overripe bananas with a vengeance and then looked out the window, toward the lane. “Naomi not comin’ today, I wonder?”
    “Takin’ Mammi Adah to the eye doctor, clear to Columbia.”
    “Guess I’ll be your chef then. Des gut , too,” she added with another glance toward her sister in the dining room. “Best we stay outta the way, in case forks start flyin’ when Micah comes for his breakfast.”
     
     
    Two hours later, it was Hiram Knepp who came in first, with Tom Hostetler, and old Gabe Glick—not that it was unusual for any of them to take meals at the Sweet Seasons. The bishop’s wife had passed last spring, and Preacher Tom’s wife had vamoosed with a fancy man, and Gabe often came when his ailing wife didn’t feel up to cooking. Seeing them all enter together and take a table in the back, however, made Miriam’s insides tighten. “Now why do I feel like those three are doin’ more than just eatin’ together?” she asked Rhoda, who stood at the griddle flipping pancakes. “All we need’s Deacon Reihl and we’d have us a meetin’ of the elders. Do ya ... s’pose they’ve heard about our Rebecca comin’ here last week?”
    “And what if they have?” Rhoda replied with a shrug. “Not like we invited her to cause such a ruckus. And not like we’re stirrin’ the pot amongst her English friends or tryin’ to get our story in the papers, either.”
    Miriam nodded as she poured the glaze over the lemon pound cakes she’d made for today’s lunch. Had somebody seen her going to Morning Star with Sheila yesterday? Or had last week’s gossip at the quilt shop—and yesterday’s talk at the quilting frolic—made its way to Esther Reihl and her husband by way of their greenhouse? How would she answer if those men started asking pointed questions about her long-lost daughter and what plans she might have for their reunion?
    Lord God, You know my heart! Let my words and thoughts reflect the truth as only a mother can know it. And let my girls understand that my actions are based on love. That’s how it would have to be. She’d been asking after her lost child’s welfare and comforting Bob after he’d lost his wife. No one could fault her intentions there. And since Sheila had refused her money, it wasn’t like she’d hired a driver on Sunday. Not exactly, anyway ...
    A few minutes later they got another surprise altogether: Micah entered the café, grinning at Rachel as he headed toward an empty seat with the Kanagy boys. Rhoda looked up from the eggs she was scrambling. “Best hold on to your kapp, Mamma. There goes Rachel to—”
    But before Rachel could express her irritation or take Micah’s breakfast order, Hiram Knepp rose from his table to approach Micah, as well. Tom and Gabe slipped out through the hall connecting to the quilt shop, their expressions grim. Thank goodness Rachel knew better than to voice her complaints when she overheard what the bishop said to Micah: indeed, the fellows at his table looked as ferhoodled as the blond carpenter himself when