LITMIR.BIZ

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put his shortcomings during yesterday’s incident behind her, he waved back.

      Then he realized she wasn’t waving to him, but to Ivy, who was passing on the sidewalk in front of the cannery. She pulled the door open just as the clock began to chime on the hour.

      “Ruth Graber turns the sign to Open at nine o’clock,” Ivy stated in a monotone.

      Hunter was startled speechless by her greeting. Then he recalled Ruth advising him that habits were very important to Ivy and he mustn’t disrupt her routine.

      “Of course, denki for the reminder, Ivy,” he said as he flipped the sign on the door.

      For the rest of the morning, Ivy didn’t say a word unless asked. But she led the customers to any item they requested and she could quote the jars’ contents and prices by heart. However, Hunter quickly discovered that while her recitation skills were excellent, Ivy had no ability to add or multiply figures. So, he used the cash register to create receipts while she bagged the customers’ purchases.

      Virtually all of the customers were Englischers, but at midmorning, a slightly built, bespectacled Amish man, Joseph Schrock, paid a visit to introduce himself. Joseph’s father, Daniel Schrock, owned Schrock’s Shop, which featured Amish-made crafts and goods that were especially appealing to tourists, and the store turned a healthy profit.

      “It’s gut to meet another businessman,” Joseph said. “Sometimes I catch grief because I’m not a carpenter or a farmer, but I knew from the time I was a kind I had a head for figures, not a body for a farm. Gott gives us all different talents, right?”

      “Jah,” Hunter agreed, although he wasn’t sure if Joseph’s comment made him feel better or worse about not being able to do the physical labor he’d been accustomed to doing. What if his physical strength was his only God-given gift? What if he didn’t have a “head for figures”?

      He didn’t have time to dwell on the thought, though, because customers were lining up. Soon, Ivy declared, “It’s quarter to one. Ruth Graber and I take our dinner break with Faith Yoder and Pearl Hostetler at one o’clock. Ruth Graber turns the sign to Closed.”

      Hunter didn’t mind if Ivy went to Faith’s bakery for her dinner break, but he had no intention of going with her. During the working day on Main Street, his association with Faith was strictly professional, not social. “You’ve done such a gut job teaching me how to serve customers, Ivy, that I’ll keep the shop open and stay here while you take your break.”

      The girl’s face puckered in confusion. “You won’t eat with us?”

      “I’ll eat my dinner now in the back room. If any customers kumme in and you need help, call me. I’ll be done before one o’clock,” Hunter assured her.

      In the sterile back room where Ruth did her canning, Hunter leaned against a stool. Standing all morning caused his hips and lower spine to burn with pain, but if he’d been sitting all morning, he would have claimed the same discomfort. The fact was, there was little that didn’t cause his back and legs to hurt and even less that helped them to feel better.

      He listened for customers arriving as he downed his cold mincemeat pie. After church, Henrietta Yoder sent a pie home with them, saying Faith made the pie especially for Ruth the evening before, once she finished baking bread for the church meal. Hunter, his aunt and his mother enjoyed it for supper, and he was pleased there were leftovers he could bring to work for dinner. If the rest of Faith’s baking was as good as her pie, Hunter figured it was no wonder her business was flourishing.

      He returned to the main room with four minutes to spare. The door was left open and Ivy was gone.

      “Ach!” he said aloud. “She must have gone to Faith’s already.”

      Yet it troubled him that she’d left the door ajar. Also, she was so time-conscious that it seemed unlikely she would have left before the clock chimed. However reluctant he was to face Faith again after his ineptness at the creek, Hunter wouldn’t be satisfied until he made certain Ivy was at the bakery. He put on his coat and hat and crossed the street.

      “Guder nammidaag!” Pearl exclaimed when he stepped inside, where a tantalizing aroma filled the air. “Faith, look who’s joining us for his dinner break.”

      “Oh?” Faith’s neutral response was difficult to interpret as she bent to slide a tray of apple fry pies into the display case.

      “Actually, I already ate my dinner,” Hunter explained. “I’m here to check on Ivy. She left without letting me know she was going.”

      Faith abruptly popped up from behind the counter, her eyes wide. “Ivy’s not here. She never steps foot in the door until the clock strikes. How long has she been missing?”

      “Missing? I don’t think she’s missing,” Hunter faltered as a wave of panic washed over him. “She’s just not at the shop, that’s all.”

      * * *

      Noticing Hunter’s ashen complexion, Faith felt almost as much concern for him as she did for Ivy.

      “Don’t worry, we’ll find her,” Faith promised. “When exactly was she last in the store?”

      Hunter stammered, “She—she was just there fifteen minutes ago. It was quarter to one. I told her I’d eat my dinner in the back room and when I was finished she could kumme here to take her dinner break with you.”

      Faith immediately knew what the problem was, but she didn’t have time to explain it to Hunter. She glanced at Pearl, who was already tying her winter bonnet beneath her chin.

      “I’ll check the other Main Street shops for her, but meanwhile you’d better get to the pond,” Pearl advised. “She has a fifteen-minute head start.”

      Grabbing her shawl, Faith asked Hunter if he’d brought his buggy into town.

      “Neh. I walked.”

      “Follow me, then,” she urged and led him through the kitchen and out the back door. She wheeled her tandem bicycle away from the wall it was leaning against.

      “You can take the backseat, I’ll steer,” she instructed. Although the pond was situated right down the hill from his aunt’s house, Hunter was so dazed Faith wasn’t sure he’d remember where to turn off the main road.

      “We’re going to ride the bike?” Hunter asked. He seemed to be moving in slow motion and Faith wondered what was wrong with him. Was he in shock?

      “Jah, now hop on,” Faith ordered, hoping her no-nonsense attitude would bring him to his senses. “I’ll tell you more as we ride, but for now I need you to pedal as hard as you can.”

      They wobbled a bit as they started down the secondary road running parallel to busy Main Street, but after three or four rotations, Faith felt the bicycle surge forward and suddenly they were sailing. She immediately recognized Hunter’s reputation for stamina was well earned: the heavy bike never glided so briskly when Faith rode it alone. If she weren’t so distraught about Ivy, she might have enjoyed the rush of nippy November air against her cheeks as they cruised along together.

      “Where are we going?” Hunter shouted.

      “Wheeler’s Bridge,” Faith spoke loudly over her shoulder.

      The covered bridge spanned the far end of Willow Creek, which wound its way through much of the farmland in the area, including the Yoders’ property. As a small, single-lane structure, the bridge was mostly used by Amish buggies or by tourists taking photos. It was situated just before the point where the current pooled into a deep and sizable pond.

      Faith noticed an immediate lag in their speed as Hunter gasped. “Do you think Ivy might have jumped off the bridge?”

      “Neh, neh! Of course not. Ach, I’m so sorry, I should have explained.” Faith panted. She felt terrible to have alarmed him, but she was winded from

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