Bluebird, Pennsylvania

"Jacob, you really needn't look so sour." Clara glanced at her only son and then tugged on her black prayer kapp, adjusting it until it was just right.

"I'm not sour." He frowned as he poured sugar into the kettle on the old iron wood stove he'd converted to propane gas. No one would say Beechy's Sweets wasn't modern.

The entire kitchen in the back of the candy shop smelled of chocolate, a rich, earthy aroma as pleasing as Clara had ever smelled in her fifty-eight years of life. It was a scent that she associated with contentment, if not happiness, because while her life had not turned out as she had thought it would, it was still a good life, a blessed life. And her greatest blessing was her son, her only child, her only tangible evidence of the beloved husband she once had.

"I'm not sour," Jacob repeated, reaching for a long-handled wooden paddle he'd fashioned in his own wood shop for just this task. "I just think you're wasting your time with these interviews. I don't need any help here." He stirred the kettle with greater vigor than necessary. "We do this together, Mam. You and I."

Clara harrumphed. "We won't be doing it together, you and I, while I'm in Indiana with Sadie and the little one. I could be gone three weeks, longer if there are complications."

Her mouth twitched into a smile at the thought of her upcoming trip. Her niece was expecting her first baby soon and when Clara's youngest sister said she wouldn't be able to help after the baby was born, not with nine little ones still at home, Clara jumped at the opportunity to go. She loved babies and she loved an adventure and traveling alone to Indiana would certainly be one.

"You can't run the cash register, wait on customers, and make the fudge," Clara pointed out, smoothing her apron as she checked the clock on the wall. She hoped the first applicant of the day would be prompt, otherwise Jacob would be ready to cross the young woman off the list without even giving her an opportunity to interview. "This is our finest year yet, with so many orders for Valentine's Day." She smiled at him. "You make the best fudge in Lancaster County. Everyone says so. Your secret recipe is the key, I tell them."

Jacob continued to stir the bubbling fudge. Most candy makers used a thermometer, but not her son. He went by the feel of the mixture of butter, cocoa, and sugar as he brought it to a boil. One minute too long, or too short, and the whole pot of fudge would be headed for Sam Troyer's pigs.

"Which is why I don't need any help," Jacob continued, his frown not budging. "You hire a girl to work here and the secret won't be a secret much longer, will it?"

Clara studied her Jacob for a moment, a bittersweet smile on her lips. He looked so much like his father, God rest her Matthew's soul. Jacob was a handsome man of thirty-six, tall and slender with dark hair and a smile, when he dared share it, that could bring light to a room.

Clara's Matthew had only been a few years older than Jacob was now when he'd passed suddenly. She and Jacob had tried running the farm alone after that, but there was too much work, not enough time and with economic bad times, well ... they'd found themselves at risk of losing the house and their sixty acres. It had been Jacob, barely into his twenties at the time, who had come up with the idea of selling the candy Clara made for friends on special occasions. Mostly they made fudge, a recipe Jacob had tinkered with over time. First, they had prepared it in their kitchen in their farmhouse, selling it at farmer's markets and such. In a year's time, they were bringing in more income from the candy than their farm. Then, five years ago, they'd taken a chance, sold a portion of their land to the Amish farmer next door, and bought a little house on Main Street in Bluebird. Bluebird was barely a town, more just a crossroad in the midst of thousands of acres of farmland and woodland, but tourists bound for Lancaster passed through it every day. The sales they made in their little store, plus the orders Jacob received from several shops in Lancaster on Englisher holidays, were enough to keep Clara and Jacob comfortable. She and her son had taken a tragedy and made sweets out of lemons. And it was a good life. Her one wish, however, before she died, was to see her son wed and God willing, with children of his own. Grandchildren to keep Clara in her dotage.

The bell on the front door jingled and Clara reached for the notebook where she was keeping notes on all the job applicants. "Ach, our first interview of the morning." She threw up her hands in excitement and then pushed through the swinging doors that led from the kitchen into the shop.

"We don't need to hire anyone," Jacob shouted after her.

Clara let the doors swing shut behind her, hoping her son's voice hadn't carried. "Good morning," she greeted. "You're right on time." Five minutes early, in fact, she noted. She liked this young lady already. "Rose Bontrager, I'm guessing? I'm Clara."

The young woman who was gazing through the glass at the candy counter turned to Clara. "Ya, Rose, that's me." She smiled a smile that Clara thought might be one of the prettiest, most genuine she'd even seen.

Rose slipped out of her heavy wool cloak. "It's so warm and cozy in here. It feels wonderful. And the smell." She inhaled deeply. "Amazing. It's so nice to meet you, Clara." She tugged on one string of her black bonnet. "My cousin Mary told me you were hiring."

"Ya, Mary Byler married to John Junior Byler, right? A nice girl. Junior cuts our meadow when it gets too high."

"She thought I might be suited to the job," Rose explained.

The two women stood there in the middle of the candy shop looking at each other for a long moment, sizing each other up, and then Clara made a clicking sound between her teeth. "I suppose we'll see about that, won't we?"

Rose gave a nervous laugh, glanced at the floor, and then at Clara again. "I'm sorry, I'm just a little nervous. New to town. And I've never interviewed for a job before."

"No need to be nervous. You can hang your cloak and bonnet there," she told Rose, pointing to the pegs on the wall Jacob had added for just that purpose.

Clara watched Rose hang her outer garments. Rose was small and slender, but not so slender as to seem weak or sickly. And pretty, very pretty, but not so pretty so as to be at risk for suffering from hochmut. A woman too prideful of her looks could be difficult to live with. Better that she has a sweet disposition. Though Jacob did like a pretty face.

"Come, sit with me," Clara invited, waving her to a little table Jacob had brought from the barn at home. He'd whitewashed it and added darling little mismatched chairs that he'd painted to match. Above the table, on the wall, Clara had added a pastoral painting of an Amish farmyard surrounded by the rolling hills of Lancaster County planted in alfalfa hay. The nook was a place for customers to sit and have a taste of their sweets, or just relax for a moment on their way to or from Lancaster. "Tell me a little bit about yourself, Rose."

The young woman, who looked to be about thirty, slid into the chair across from Clara and folded her hands.

Rose had told the truth when she said she was nervous about the interview, but she pushed on because she wanted this job. She wanted this opportunity and she...