I nodded. “A little more than that, actually. It’s always good to have extra. If they don’t eat everything, I’m sure we will have volunteers to take the remainder home.”

  “All right, you had better get busy.” Margot checked her watch. “Forty-five minutes and counting.” She bustled off toward the kitchen. I hoped the church ladies were ready for the Margot tornado coming their way.

  I took a breath and stared at the tables. I was going to have to work fast to get everything done in time.

  “Can I help you?” Polly Anne asked.

  I wasn’t sure it was right to put the guest of honor to work, but I had twenty-five round tables to fill with sweets and not nearly enough time to do it. I had waited until the very last minute to bring the treats over. I knew the volunteers would be using the refrigerators for the finger sandwiches and other food. I didn’t want my candies to be in their way. If I’d brought them over too early, the chocolate would have melted. Although the fellowship hall was air conditioned, I worried about the candies being out too long in a room full of people.

  I smiled at Polly Anne. “If you don’t mind, that would be great. I know Margot will be fit to be tied if I’m putting candies on the tables as the women arrive.”

  Polly Anne smiled. “When I asked Margot to help me with the tea, I never knew how organized she was. She’s…intense.”

  I laughed. “She is, but she cares a lot about Harvest and the people in it. She’s the person to see if you need to get stuff done, so you made the right choice when you chose her as general of this operation.”

  “I didn’t know she was taking the general post, but I am glad I picked her. She’s really taken the reins, and I know this tea would not have sold out if I were trying to do it alone.” She smiled. “I moved to the farm from Columbus about two years ago, and I still don’t know many people. I have been so consumed with getting Abigail’s Farm off the ground, and then caring for the women who come to it, I haven’t had time to make many friends outside of my next-door neighbors.” She clapped her hands. “But enough about that—what would you have me do? This is perfect. It will keep me busy so that I don’t fret over my speech. I have written and rewritten it four times. I don’t want to rework it a fifth time. If I stand idly by, I might just do that.”

  “Thank you again.” I removed a white bakery box from the wagon. “These are truffles. Be sure to set eight at each table. When you are done with those, I can give your another box of something else.”

  Polly Anne smiled. “Good. Keep me busy until the ladies arrive. Busy hands keep worries at bay—that’s something I tell the women at my farm. I believe that’s why the farm’s rehabilitation model works so well. When you are busy caring for something else, you are able to hold back self-defeating thoughts. It’s not foolproof, but it helps.”

  I could understand Polly Anne’s philosophy. Whenever I was anxious about something, I wanted to take action, even if that action had nothing to do with the problem. I needed to move before I could settle down, and throwing myself into work was the easy answer. Since coming to Harvest, I’d had to reassess what work looked like for me. I didn’t work at the candy shop on Sundays. For one, my grandmother didn’t allow it. She was strict about keeping the Sabbath and wanted everyone at the shop to do the same. At first, I bristled at the idea. I believed I was wasting time when I could have been cleaning the candy shop or updating the website or anything, really. It was hard for a worker bee like me to take any time off. But even more than I wanted to work, I wanted to avoid upsetting my grandmother. So I took her rule to heart.

  Sundays had become my days to rest and recharge, and I was surprised to find that I was getting the same amount of work done every week regardless. Maybe there was something to this whole resting thing. I wished that I had known about it sooner—I might have been happier in New York if I had.

  Polly Anne got right to work, and I decided that I would be the one to divvy up the butterscotch peanut bars my grandmother had made. Each bar was cut into a one-by-one-inch square, an easy bite for a tea party. Removing the butterscotch bars, or any soft candy, such as fudge, from a box without cutting into it or leaving a thumbprint behind was an art form I’d mastered over the six years I worked for Jean Pierre at JP Chocolates. In fact, I had been so good at removing the candy, Jean Pierre would only let me pack the fudge if a bride requested some for her wedding. It was critical at fancy New York weddings that every last detail be perfect. Thumbprints on fudge would have ruined Jean Pierre’s reputation.

  I wondered how Juliet’s wedding would go. Something was bound to go wrong, but I doubted that it would be much more than a snafu with her dress or someone running a little late to the ceremony. Her wedding planning lists were so thorough, I couldn’t imagine her forgetting a single thing. In the wedding planning department, Juliet gave Margot a run for her money.

  I placed all the butterscotch bars on a platter away from the three-tiered plates and set a little card beside it noting that the treat contained peanuts. Margot loved Maami’s butterscotch peanut bars, but I was always careful where I positioned anything with peanuts because of possible allergies. With the butterscotch peanut bars in place, I moved on to fudge. I glanced across the room and saw Polly Anne still working on her first box of truffles.

  I had two kinds of fudge with me. One was the standard chocolate, because a chocolatier can’t go wrong there, and the other was butterscotch fudge. It was a new addition to the fudge offerings at Swissmen Sweets, one that Emily, our other shop assistant, suggested we put on our menu because of the popularity of the butterscotch peanut bars. I was so glad we did. The number of visitors who came into the shop nostalgic for the taste of butterscotch had been overwhelming.

  As I moved around the tables with my container of fudge, I noticed a cardboard box by the podium with “Donation” printed on the side of it. The box had been covered with flowered wrapping paper. For some reason, it reminded me of the empty tissue boxes we would decorate for Valentine’s Day in elementary school. We’d cut a slot in the top, wrap the boxes in shiny wrapping paper, and decorate them with so many heart stickers you could no longer see the pattern. Then we’d set our boxes on the corners of our desks and hope that our crushes would drop Valentines declaring their unfailing love inside. If they included a few Snickers with their love notes, all the better. In reality, we girls filled each other’s boxes, and then we would eat the candy together and commiserate that boys were stupid anyway.

  Polly Anne walked over. “What next?”

  “You’re fast,” I said. “You can put out the mini cheesecakes. That’s the next container in the wagon.”

  She nodded and got to work.

  I placed the last piece of fudge and went back to the wagon for the lemon bars. It was a new dessert for me, but I knew there was an off chance that someone wouldn’t like chocolate or butterscotch. Of course, as a chocolatier, I couldn’t understand anyone not liking chocolate. Chocolate was one of the five major food groups—or at least it would have been if I had been in charge of making the chart.

  My grandmother’s tiny cheesecakes were the size of mini-cupcakes, each in its own foil wrapper. Some of them were topped with Amish-canned cherries, the others with Amish-canned blueberries. I hoped there would be a cherry one left over for me, because my grandmother’s mini cheesecakes were my favorite treat—aside from chocolate.

  I was at the round table closest to the kitchen, starting to place the lemon bars, when I heard a voice.

  “I can’t do it right now,” Polly Anne said. She was on the other side of the fellowship hall, at the main doorway that led into the church. She spoke so loudly her voice carried across the room.

  “You promised,” a faceless voice shouted even more loudly than Polly Anne. The unseen speaker was on the other side of the double doors.

  “No.” Polly Anne’s voice was sharp, and I blinked at the harsh sound. Could this be the same woman who had volunteered to help me put out the candies? Whose life’s work was to help women suffering from substance abuse get back on their feet? I shook my head and went back to work. Whatever argument she was having, it was none of my business. That’s not to say my natural nosiness wasn’t cued up. Aiden would have shaken his head. He believed I stuck my nose in where it didn’t belong. This time, I was staying out of it—or so I thought.

  Chapter Four

  Since Polly Anne was preoccupied, I put the last few cheesecakes on the tables and stepped back. I was quite pleased with how the display had turned out. My family’s candy and sweets looked lovely on the delicate, three-tiered china plates that Margot had found.

  Because Swissmen Sweets was an Amish shop, our candies were rarely displayed in such a fancy way. Out of respect to my grandmother, we kept the shop the same way it had been since she and my grandfather first opened its doors. Well, for the most part. I had made some hidden changes, including adding a website, Wi-Fi, and an online order business. Maami had been reluctant to make these changes at first, but with my television show hitting cable in a few weeks, they were definitely needed if we wanted to take advantage of the exposure Bailey’s Amish Sweets would bring us. The Amish were strict in their beliefs and their adherence to the rules set forth by their bishops, but they were also practical businessmen and women. Many of them ran very successful businesses.

  I finished putting everything out and looked for Polly Anne. She was no longer by the doorway at the other end of the fellowship hall. In fact, I didn’t see her in the large room at all.

  Juliet floated into the room through the door attached to the church. “The women are arriving. I have them waiting in the hallway. Everyone is so excited, and it appears that everyone on the guest list came!” She adjusted Jethro in her arms. “I’m absolutely tickled by the turnout.”

  Margot popped out of the kitchen like a jack-in-the-box. “Clean up anything that shouldn’t be seen and let them in.”

  As quickly as I could, I tucked all the bakery boxes and plastic containers back into the wagon and stored it in the church kitchen. Then I returned to the fellowship hall and stood by the kitchen door.

  Across the large room, Juliet and Margot met the guests at the door. Juliet greeted each woman with her endearing smile and Margot, all business, checked their names off the list attached to her clipboard. I was relieved that she did not insist on asking for their IDs, although I wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if she had. Polly Anne was nowhere in sight. After Margot checked each person’s name off the list, Juliet collected the money in the flower-papered box I had seen earlier. She thanked every person who paid her for a ticket. While I watched them, I wondered about the argument Polly Anne had had with the person on the other side of the very same door where Juliet and Margot stood now, and then I tried to put it out of my mind. I reminded myself that it was none of my business.

  Cheerful chatter filled the space as the women took their seats. It took some time for the ladies to settle, and I was happy to hear their gleeful comments about all the desserts on the tables.

  I was also happy to see that my mother, Maami, and Charlotte had come together for the tea. It had taken a bit of convincing on my part to get Maami to attend, but Charlotte had been no problem at all. My young Amish cousin looked around the room with awe. I could see why. This was not an Amish get-together, not by a long shot. The three of them sat at a table to the right of the podium where Polly Anne would give her speech. There was an empty seat between them that I knew was for me. A woman with a walker sat at that table as well. Her hair was set in curls and she had a bright smile when Charlotte helped her with her chair.

  When the last woman checked in, Juliet walked over to me. “Everything looks gorgeous.” She hugged me. “It’s amazing how supportive this community is of meaningful causes, and each other. My, it’s enough to bring a tear to your eye.”

  I hugged her back before I let go.

  “Oh good, Linda is sitting with your family,” Juliet said. “That’s perfect.”

  “Linda?” I asked.

  “Linda Benson. She’s the lady with the walker. She’s just about the sweetest soul you could ever meet. She’s not been doing well, so I’m a little surprised to see her. She’s getting treatment for bone cancer. It’s very serious.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that,” I whispered.

  Juliet nodded sadly. “She and her husband come to our church when she’s feeling up to it. She and Polly Anne are close friends and neighbors. I’m sure she wants to support Abigail’s Farm. I know it will be hard for Polly Anne when they move away.”

  “Move away?” I asked.

  “The Bensons plan to sell their farm so Linda can be closer to the treatments she needs. There are limitations in Holmes County when it comes to medical care. I believe they are moving to Cleveland to be closer to the large hospitals.”

  I nodded.

  Margot appeared at my side, put her hands on her hips, and scanned the room. With her poufy, crinoline-filled skirt, she looked like a turn-of-the-twentieth-century schoolmarm about to give her class a severe talking-to. “We need to get this show on the road. Have either of you seen Polly Anne?”

  I bit my lip. What was I to say? That the last time I had seen her she was arguing with someone in the hallway? Thankfully, I was spared from making that choice when Polly Anne appeared over Margot’s left shoulder.

  Polly Anne smoothed her dress. “I’m right here,” she said. “I just stepped away for a moment to compose myself. I’m nervous about the speech. Performance jitters.”

  I noted that she didn’t look as put together as she had before. Her bangs were matted to her forehead and she appeared to be out of breath.

  Margot didn’t seem to take notice of Polly Anne’s appearance, or if she did, she didn’t care. She had a timetable for the tea, and by God she had a plan to stick to. “Good, good. Bailey, Juliet, take your seats, and Polly Anne and I will begin the program. Chop, chop!”

  As Juliet and I walked to our seats she whispered to me, “Did Margot actually say chop, chop?”

  I nodded and made a beeline for my seat, just in case the chopping pertained to removing my head from the rest of my body.

  I smiled at the ladies at my table and said hello to my mother and grandmother. Linda leaned across the table and shook my hand. “Thank you so much for being here. Polly Anne told me about Swissmen Sweets’ donation. It was so kind. I was just telling your grandmother so. You don’t know how much this means to Polly Anne.”

  “It was our pleasure,” I said and sat in the empty chair next to my mother.

  “My, Bailey, you didn’t tell me that this event would be so well done,” Mom said. “I would almost think I was back in New England.”

  A lady across the table from us snorted, and I blushed. I didn’t respond because Margot was at the microphone. “Ladies, thank you so much for being here today as part of this celebration and fundraiser for Abigail’s Farm. It is so heartwarming to see so many women here this Mother’s Day weekend to support such a wonderful cause. Please enjoy your tea and treats during the presentation. Now, it’s my pleasure to introduce you to Polly Anne Lind. Polly Anne is the founder of Abigail’s Farm, and she will tell you more about what the farm is all about.”

  Polly Anne went up to the microphone. “Thank you, Margot, not only for the kind introduction but for putting this event together. I would also like to thank the church, all of the volunteers, and Swissmen Sweets for their time and food donations. Believe me when I say that you would not be eating half as well if I were today’s chef.” She chuckled. “Many of the women who come through Abigail’s Farm would much rather cook for themselves than have me do it.”

  There was polite laughter, and Polly Anne took a breath.

  “The donation you made today makes it possible for Abigail’s Farm to continue operating. For those of you who may not know, the farm started eight years ago when my daughter Abigail succumbed to heroin addiction. I was in such a dark place after she died. I was frustrated that all the treatments we’d tried didn’t work. I felt there had to have been something she could have done after rehab to ease her into her new life. I thought she would have done better if she had been eased back into society instead of thrown back into it, and I thought I could do something about that, if not for Abigail, for another woman in her shoes.

  “I knew I had to do something to help other addicts, parents, and family members from suffering the same fate. Abigail was a bright and beautiful girl, but she made a bad choice. For her, after her first hit of drugs, it was almost impossible to turn back. She was in and out of traditional rehab a number of times. What if she’d had an opportunity to get away from her world and go to a new place, a place where all she had to think about was one or two tasks? Where all she had to work on was getting clean. Everything else would be taken care of. At the same time, my uncle died and left me this farm in the middle of Holmes County. I was living in Columbus when Abigail died. Everyone told me to sell the farm, to take a vacation, to run away from my memories and my life. I wasn’t going to do that. I took the farm as a sign that I could help other women like my daughter. That’s where the idea of Abigail’s Farm came from, and it took me five years to get it off the ground.”

  Tears sprang to my eyes as I heard Polly Anne’s story. I glanced around the table, and then the room. There were tears in all our eyes.

  “And I couldn’t keep the farm open if it wasn’t for donations from women like you.” Polly Anne leaned over the podium. “Even if you never see the farm with your own eyes, you are the backbone that is holding it up. It’s true that the farm was free to me, but there are so many expenses to run it: taxes on the land, food for the women and for the animals that they care for. They pay a nominal fee to come to Abigail’s Farm, and some of that is covered by their insurance, but I want to keep the cost low for them. I can only do that with your help.” Polly Anne began to list what the ten thousand dollars the tea had raised would go to, including food and clothes for the women, tools and animal feed for the farm, and general repairs around the property.