Chapter Nine
Grace
It had been more than a week since we'd broken the news to Danny and then buried Mamm and Dat, and while I'd tried to keep things running smoothly, I'd struggled to shoulder all the burdens I'd assumed. The funeral had been simple and hundreds of Amish folks, some from as far away as Lancaster, had come to help us bury our parents.
Hope and Faith had taken on the responsibility of coordinating the food we'd needed for all the travelers while Verity and Honor had kept the house running smoothly and kept an eye on Danny. As the newly appointed head of the family, I oversaw the funeral arrangements, the house, the farm, and the store. It was overwhelming, and there were moments when I thought I would crack under the pressure to maintain a calm presence. By the time the last mourner had shaken my hand, telling me this was God's will, I wanted to scream. Instead, I kept it in and nodded my head as I thanked them for coming.
I was torn between wanting to return to my city life and all its little luxuries that I missed so much, and wanting to be here with my sisters and brother as we tried to make sense of this loss. With every day that passed, I felt more and more trapped by the Amish way of life and scared that I'd never find a way to leave. Honor and Danny were still too young to live on their own, and Verity would be getting married in the fall. I wondered if she and her betrothed, Levi Yoder, might be willing to take over running the house and the farm. I knew Levi had a lot of responsibility because his father had left the Amish when Levi was young.
At home, my brain spun on the hamster wheel of thought, so tonight, I welcomed the chance to be alone with my thoughts. I ached to return to the life I had been living in Chicago, but the store would be turned over to Uncle Amos, and I was fairly sure that would have gone directly against my father's wishes. Besides, the store kept the farm running, so I resolved to find someone who could run the store in my absence. I'd checked my phone a couple of times since I arrived, and aside from an email from Mike telling me that everything was going smoothly back at the office and not to worry, not much was happening.
Around seven thirty, I sent John, the stock boy, home counted the money in the register and stuck a slip inside so that I wouldn't have to waste time doing it again once I locked the doors. With less than a half an hour before closing time, I turned my attention to straightening the displays at the end of each aisle. A few minutes later, I heard the mechanical door slide open and then close. I turned to see who had come in. Usually it was Amish teenagers out looking for a late night snack to take out to the fields where they partied until dawn. I was surprised to see a stranger standing off to one side, looking around as if he'd never seen a grocery store before. Most English tourists did the same thing this stranger was doing since they expected all our stores to look as if we lived in the eighteenth century. Their assumptions annoyed me, but Papa had consistently reminded me that it was our job to build a bridge between our community and the English.
"May I help you, sir?" I asked as I put the boxes of butterscotch pudding I'd been stacking down and walked toward him.
"Man, you all are really in a time warp, aren't you?" he said in a tone that sounded vaguely condescending.
"We're a small town grocery store, if that's what you mean," I said as I stared at him. He was well over six feet tall with broad shoulders and sharp features, but what stood out was his wild mop of curly hair and his amber eyes. He shifted restlessly as he looked around, reminding me of one of our feral barn cats. Annoyed, I added, “We might have a smaller selection of goods, but they seem to satisfy the people who shop here.”
“Whoa, no need to be defensive,” he said holding up a hand as if to keep me at bay. “I was just intrigued by the fact that you’ve got mechanical doors, but the store is so small.”
“We’re not backward country people,” I said tersely. When he didn't say any more, I asked brusquely, "Is there something specific you're looking for?"
"Dinner," he replied as he turned and looked straight at me not hiding the fact that he was studying me from head to toe. I looked away as I felt the heat rising in my cheeks. I hated the way outsiders stared at the Amish as if we were animals in a zoo. One of the reasons I'd moved to a big city after leaving Corner Grove was so I wouldn't feel conspicuous anymore. Chicago had given me a sense of anonymity that I was now denied. I also felt annoyed that my Amish clothes put a barrier between him and me. In the city, I would have looked like all the rest of the women who worked in the Loop, but here I was, a drab church mouse who attracted curious stares from handsome strangers. The stranger grinned at me as he said, "You got any hot food in this little place?"
"I don't think I have anything that's still hot and fresh, if that's what you mean," I said pulling myself up to my full height, which was still at least half a foot shorter than he was. "But we do have a microwave and I can heat something for you, if you like."
"You've got a microwave? I thought you people didn't believe in electricity," he said with a wry grin.
"That's an ignorant myth," I shot back feeling intensely irritated at his feigned attempt at stereotyping. "We don't believe in being connected to the main power grid, but we do have electricity run off generators."
"Oh, so you don't believe in tapping into the power supply, but you do believe in supporting big oil?" he said sarcastically. "That totally makes sense. Why not drive cars, then?"
"Because we’re not Mennonites,” I said dryly. “We believe in a separation of church and state, and we don’t believe in being connected to the power grid.”
"Sorry, sorry," he said raising his hands in mock surrender. "Don't get your dirndl in a bunch."
"What exactly do you want?" I said narrowing my eyes. There was no denying that he was striking, and something about him felt familiar, but I couldn't quite put my finger on where I'd seen him before. He seemed incredibly ignorant and his casual stereotyping of my community made me want to push him out the door and slam it in his face.
"I told you," he shrugged. "I need hot food."
"Fine," I said tersely then turned and marched to the back deli case where I stood in front of it as I pointed out the food we had. "We've got chicken, stuffed cabbage rolls, and dumplings. I can heat them up in just a few minutes and have you on your way."
"Hey, hey, hey," he said backing up. "I didn't mean to make you mad, I was just making an observation."
"Yes, well, I don't appreciate it," I said squaring my shoulders. "It's offensive and inaccurate."
"Alright, let me start over," he said holding out his hand. "I've obviously made a wrong turn as I didn't mean to offend you. I'm Adam Wallace."
I looked down at his hand and then back up into his bright eyes before sticking my hand out and shaking his.
"Grace Miller," I said brusquely. "It's nice to meet you Adam Wallace. Now, what can I get you for dinner?"
"It's nice to meet you, Grace Miller," he said as he gripped my hand firmly and held my gaze. I could feel the warmth and smoothness of his skin pressing against mine, and it unsettled me. He continued, "I'm sorry I acted like an ignorant city person. Can you forgive me?"
"I'll think about it," I said tugging my hand away from his grasp. "Now, what about dinner?"
"Man, you're really all business, aren't you?" he chuckled. I ignored his amused expression and walked around to the backside of the counter. "Okay, fine. I'll take the chicken and some of that potato salad."
I quickly pulled out a box and used the tongs to put several pieces of chicken into it before tossing it in the microwave and hitting the button. I grabbed a plastic container and spooned potato salad into it before snapping the lid on and placing it on the counter. The microwave dinged and I grabbed the box, pushed the edges down so that it was closed before grabbing the potato salad, and put everything in a plastic bag with a set of plastic silverware and some napkins before heading for the cash register.
"Whoa, missy!" Adam laughed loudly. "What else do I need to complete my dinner?"
"My name is Grace," I reminded him. "And I'd say this is more than enough."
"What about dessert?" he asked with a smile. "Don't your people make great pies—or is that an offensive stereotype as well?"
"Yes, we bake," I said more tersely than I'd intended as I walked a back around the counter and pulled a cherry pie off the top of it. Adam grinned at me as I cut him a large slice and put it in a container. I added the container to the contents of the bag. I gave him an irritated look as I asked, "Happy now?"
"Very," he nodded. "Thank you."
As Adam followed me to the front of the store, I could feel his eyes on me and I wondered what he was thinking. At the register, I quickly rang up his purchases and said, "Seven eighty-two."
"That's all?" he said in a surprised tone. "I thought it would have been at least double that!"
"We're in Corner Grove, not Chicago," I said as I took the ten-dollar bill he offered and made change. A surprised look crossed his face as I mentioned Chicago, and I was certain that that was because he saw me as an ignorant country girl who had no knowledge of the world outside Corner Grove. He made me even more irritated when I held out his change and he shook his head.
"Keep it," he said as he grabbed the bag. "Consider it a tip for having taught me how to tame my impulse to stereotype."
"This is a store, Mr. Wallace," I said holding out the change. "Not a charity."
"Well, then hold on to it until I come in again," he said as he headed out the door without taking the money.
"What a jerk," I muttered under my breath as I put the money back in the till and slammed the drawer shut.
After he'd left, I stood looking out the front door wondering why Mr. Adam Wallace was in Corner Grove in the first place and hoped that he and his crooked grin wouldn't be staying long.