American Heart by Laura Moriarty

Author:Laura Moriarty
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2017-12-19T00:00:00+00:00

11

THE AMISH COUNTRY Store in Lamoni had an old-fashioned wagon on its front lawn, and also a covered porch with a swing, and it was connected to a little barn-looking building that was really a Maid-Rite restaurant. Nobody working in the store was Amish, which made sense, as it would be against their religion to run the credit card machine or turn on the overhead lights. But the store had the feel of a museum gift shop, with a wooden floor that creaked under your feet, and a high tin roof, and copper cooking kettles hanging on the walls. The place was bigger than any gift shop I’d ever seen, though. There was a section for rocking chairs, and another one for tables, and an entire alcove devoted to Christmas decorations, now part of the JANUARY SALE. Up by the registers, they had dolls made out of cornhusks, and butter churns and wooden bird houses, and a wheelbarrow full of needlepoint pillows that said things like Bless This House. You would think with all that stuff, it would start to feel sort of garage-sale cluttered, but the whole place smelled like cinnamon, and all the shelves and little alcoves looked tidy, everything polished and neatly arranged. A tabby cat with a red collar slinked around a corner, and Chloe crouched by a bin of wooden napkin holders to rub its little orange chin until it purred loud enough for me to hear. She couldn’t talk to it and call it a good kitty because people were around, but she held its cool gaze for a long moment.

I was most interested in the food. Chloe and I had just come in to use the bathroom, and I knew we didn’t have time to actually sit and eat at the Maid-Rite. But when we were supposedly on our way back out, I stopped at the little counter, pointing at the pastries and banana bread slices to show Chloe I’d get her something if she wanted. She shook her head, so I just got myself a cinnamon roll, still warm in its foil pouch. It tasted so soft and buttery on my tongue I pushed half of it in my mouth all at once.

Chloe stared at me. By then, we’d walked over to the woven baskets, away from everybody, but my cheeks were still too full to talk. So I just looked at her like, What?

“It’s getting late,” she whispered. “We should go out.”

I wiped my nose, but I took another bite, acting like she hadn’t said it. It was so cold out, the wind still blowing hard, and it was embarrassing to go out with the sign.

But I felt optimistic, looking around at the other customers. It turns out that if you ever need a ride with a safe-looking woman, an Amish store on a weekday is a good place to look. At least the day we were there, it was pretty much older-lady central. I mean, nobody was scooting around with

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