He returned to their table, sliding into the booth with a sigh. “I think we need to go somewhere else to find a phone, Abi-girl.”

“Um, excuse me.” Amos looked up to find an older woman standing next to their table. She looked to be about sixty but wore the uniform of a McDonald’s employee.

Which boggled his mind. Senior citizens, working at McDonald’s? The average employee age used to be sixteen and a half. Amos had been the “old man” at nineteen.

“Yes?” Amos said, remembering his manners. “Can I help you?”

She smiled at him, then at Abigail. “I overheard your question and I want to apologize for the rudeness of my coworker.” She shook her head. “Teenagers these days. I’m Edie. Do you need a phone?”

Amos couldn’t hide his relief. “Yes, ma’am. And a phone book.”

Her expression cycled from puzzled, to understanding, and back to kind. She was studying their clothing now. Both he and Abigail wore plain clothing. Homespun fabrics. No frills. Abigail’s old-fashioned dress was standard for Eden but very out of place here, and Amos’s full beard stood out among the mostly clean-shaven men around him. Abigail’s pigtails were mussed from sleeping in the truck, but still neat enough to give her a Little House on the Prairie look.

“Are you Amish?” Edie asked.

Amos wasn’t sure how to respond. It took his brain a few seconds to find “Amish” in his memory. But then he nodded. It was an easier explanation than that he’d been living in a cultish commune for thirty years. “Kind of, yes. It’s been a while since I’ve been to a city.”

“Ah. Well. Give me a second.”

Edie disappeared from view and Abigail turned to him, eyes wide once again. He hoped she didn’t pull an eye muscle, because wide-eyed had become her permanent expression.

“What’s Amish, Papa?” she whispered.

“They live in small communities like Eden,” he whispered back. “They don’t drive cars, just horses, and they farm the land.”

“Like us,” she said. “Okay.”

Edie was back, smiling big, holding two coffees stacked in one hand and a little brightly colored box in the other. “Here you go!” she said cheerfully. She pulled up a chair. “Can I join you? It’s time for my break. If you want, I can help you find what you need.”

Amos started to rise, but she waved him back down. “You’re fine.” She sat at the end of the table and gave him one of the cups of coffee. “On the house,” she said, then opened the box.

Abigail was watching Edie’s every move. “What is that?”

“Ma’am,” Amos corrected. “What is that, ma’am?”

Abigail flashed him an embarrassed glance. “Sorry, Papa. What is that, ma’am?”

“Happy Meal toys for you.” Edie emptied the toys on the table and Abigail’s delighted, if a little confused, smile brought back memories of all the excited kids begging their parents for a Happy Meal toy when he’d worked the counter.

Abigail looked to him for permission. “May I, Papa?”