And she had the unsettling realization that, when she’d chosen the fabric for this dress, it was with a subconscious belief that today, among the Amish, she could safely wear something pretty, even feminine. After all, men who lived their submission to God must also be gentle.
Nick had tried to tell her that wasn’t true—although the Amish did not come to him or the police in general in cases of domestic abuse or drunkenness, he had seen evidence that they, too, suffered from problems that afflicted every level of society.
How could she be sure Luke didn’t hold the willingness to commit violence at a simmer? That he might not have a temper? Who but God knew? He’d been impatient enough to leave the faith in search of something else.
Or was it more powerful that, in the end, he’d chosen to return to his people, willing to humble himself before the members of his church as he asked to be restored to them and to his God?
She blinked, wondering how long the silence had lasted. Abby clutched her, seeming not to have noticed anything, but Luke’s smile had faded and his expression had turned quizzical as well as guarded.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It was so much to take in.”
If she didn’t see him often, she wouldn’t have noticed his subtle relaxation.
“Did you understand a word?”
“Of course I did! I missed a lot, too, but I’ve been working hard with Miriam’s help on learning the language, and I know my Bible well enough to recognize quotes.”
“Backache?” he teased.
“I’m tougher than that.” Her relevant muscles were just . . . underdeveloped. She lowered her voice. “Thank you for suggesting this. I . . . found it really inspiring. I still have goose bumps from hearing the hymns.”
Lines gathered on his forehead. “But you couldn’t have understood the words to those.”
“No, but the sound of so many voices joined into one was extraordinary. I could tell from people’s faces that they were sincere, that they were offering praise to the Lord in the best way they could.” Unable to read his face, she stopped. “That may sound dumb . . . I mean, I shouldn’t assume I know what people are thinking—”
“No,” he interrupted, an odd harshness in his voice. “You’re right. It’s the closest we can come to being one with God.”
“Oh.” Pierced by a yearning that was nearly painful, all she could think was, I want that. Well, there were other ways to find what Luke did in worshipping with these people who, like him, had chosen to block the temptations out there that would distract them from the word of their Lord. There was nothing stopping her from opening her heart in the same way. “Well.” Feeling a little awkward, she looked around. “Miriam must be looking for me. I’m supposed to help bring out the food.”
He frowned. “You’re a guest.”
“I like getting to know the other women. And being useful.”
He smiled, but crookedly. His mother or his sister would have said the same. Sitting idle while others worked would be unthinkable. “Then Abby must come back to her daadi.”
When his daughter’s arms tightened around Julia’s neck, she laughed. “If I have a little monkey hanging around my neck, I might dump a bowl of potato salad on the bishop’s lap, and think how embarrassing that would be!”
For a moment longer, Abby clung before reaching out for her father. “Do you know what I think?” he said. “That this little girl has legs and feet, and can walk.”
Abby was giggling as he set her down, and Julia turned toward the house.
* * *
* * *
SUCH HUNGER HE thought he’d seen. Not for him, of course; she, too, wanted to feel as one with God. Luke thought their Lord had already heard her need and was steering her the direction He thought she must go.
Grimacing, he dismissed what was, after all, a self-serving thought, that just because it had once occurred to him that Julia belonged among his people, that must mean God had the same intention. More likely, Julia had been sent to challenge his convictions.
He led Abby to a section of lawn where some older girls were supervising the younger ones at play. Two weeks ago, she’d declined to join in the fun. He couldn’t remember what game they’d been playing, but today a Nerf ball was being bounced off heads and shoulders and backs. Apparently, it was not allowed to hit the ground.
One of the older girls—Rudy’s granddaughter, Luke thought—was clever enough to bounce the ball straight to Abby. It glanced off her head, sprang back into the air, and she laughed aloud. When someone directed it right back at her, she stepped forward to connect with it.
Luke slowly eased back. A few times, she looked to be sure he was still there, but otherwise she joined happily in the game, shrieking as she ran about. At the moment, language didn’t matter. He thought she was learning more than she realized anyway. But this! To see her play with other children.
He turned his head, glad to spot Julia and see that she had stopped partway across the lawn to watch Abby, too. She smiled. When she looked at him, he wondered if her eyes were damp.
She loved his Abby. Had come to love her while he was still floundering with a decision that violated some of his personal tenets even as he’d seen no other choice he could live with. But each day, he had become more certain that he had done the best thing. He, too, loved this little girl with a fierceness that sometimes startled him. He hoped she’d never have to find out that, in fact, he wasn’t her biological father. And why should she? But if it happened . . . a lie was not a strong foundation. He knew that.
He was distracted when Miriam set a platter of fried chicken on a table that he hadn’t helped set up, any more than he’d helped unload the bench wagon in the first place.
“Why don’t you leave her playing?” she suggested. “She can eat with Julia and me.”
“I’ll do that,” he said. “If she stays happy. I’ll make sure she can see me.”
“Good.” She hurried away, back to the kitchen for another load.
Luke made sure that Abby saw where he was, among a mixed group of men including his younger brother again. And was that a flush on Elam’s cheeks after a young woman leaned over his shoulder to fill his glass with lemonade before moving on?
Intrigued, Luke decided it was. Elam was careful not to glance her way until she had moved several places down the table, but when he did, he worked entirely too hard to appear casual. And, yes, she was blushing, too.
Luke had to think about who she was. One of those girls too young for him—as most of the unmarried ones were—she hadn’t caught his eye until now. Although she was pretty, he decided, a little unusual with especially dark hair and eyes among a people who tended to blond and perhaps brown hair. And, yes, the occasional redhead.
Without thinking, he turned his head until he saw Julia two tables away, laughing as she poured coffee.
Elam had seen, and raised his eyebrows. Luke mimicked him, nodding toward the girl.
The name popped into his head. Anna Rose Esch. Her family had been new here while he was away, moving from Pennsylvania in search of affordable farmland. He must have met her mother; he remembered talking to the father, Melvin Esch, but what boys they had were Elam’s age and younger, so no reason for him to become well acquainted with the family.
Seated two men away from Luke, Elam pretended to dignity and complete indifference to the girl. Luke took a page from his book and tried to be subtle when he checked to be sure Julia was still being treated kindly.
As if most of his church group would consider doing anything else. Ava Kemp, maybe, a sour woman if he’d ever met one, but knowing her husband, Luke could understand why she might be. Sally Yoder had been catty with the other girls when she fluttered around Luke all those years ago, but she had married a solid, good man shortly after Luke walked away from his family and church, and she had four children and carried another now.<
br />
As he searched for Julia again, he met another woman’s eyes. Rebecca King’s. Of course, she came straight to him, hips swaying, and set a hand on his shoulder as she said, “Can I get anything for you?”
He made sure to sound pleasant. “Nein, but denke.”
“Your little girl is so sweet. Not so shy now, is she?”
“No, she’s gaining confidence,” he agreed. “She has Mamm and sometimes Miriam when I’m working.” He raised his voice slightly. “She even likes Elam.”
His brother shot him a look promising retribution. Rebecca laughed, a light, merry ripple, and went on her way. Luke pondered why his instinct was to avoid her. She was pretty enough, if a decade younger than him, just pushy enough to let him see she was interested but not enough to be annoying, well-liked, and yet . . . she was not for him.
He could almost see Mamm shaking her head in disappointment.
* * *
* * *
ABBY SAT SQUEEZED between Miriam and Julia, eating with her usual delicacy. Julia hadn’t thought to ask Luke whether her mother was a petite woman, and her daughter simply took after her, or whether Abby may have suffered from malnutrition that might be overcome and allow a growth spurt.
Sitting across the table from them, Sarah Yoder engaged Miriam in talking about the quilt auction and the interest garnered by their fliers and the posting on the quilt shop website. Julia had put both auctions up on the Bowman’s site, too, and had answered several questions via email. Ruth had told her earlier that other Amish quilt shops in Missouri as far south as the Ozarks and even up into Iowa had also posted the information.
“Lydia is so grateful,” Sarah said. “She has her hands full with Noah home.”
“How is he doing?” Julia asked.
They’d been talking in Deitsh, and Sarah didn’t switch to English. Julia was glad that the other women sometimes seemed to forget she was an auslander, and that when she contributed to the conversation, she was fluent enough to be understood, at least.
“Ach, so well! Except he misses David. They were sitting beside each other, you know, just behind their daad, talking until . . .” She lifted her hands in a hopeless gesture. “One minute together, the next, David was gone.”
“I hope Noah didn’t see him.”
“I think he did. He cries out at night, Lydia says.”
Julia’s throat tightened. “I’m so sorry.”
Sarah nodded, her sadness showing, but then she said with possibly forced cheer, “Noah has been to see Sol twice now, and that helps. His daad’s face looks better, not so swollen, you know, and the bruises are fading.”
Julia still hadn’t met Lydia’s husband. She’d always waited outside his room or Noah’s. Since running into Luke and Abby the one evening, Julia hadn’t gotten near the waiting room outside Sol’s room. And heck, it wasn’t as if he was likely to be in the mood to be introduced to a new acquaintance.
Of course, Lydia was here today, as were her two daughters. An Englisch neighbor was staying with Noah, Julia had heard. They hoped by the next service he would be strong enough to attend. Friends and family encircled Lydia, not letting her lift a finger or chase after her little girls. The open caring warmed Julia’s heart. She felt confident that Lydia wouldn’t be deserted, even as her husband’s recuperation dragged on, month after month.
Two neighboring church districts were also raising money to help pay the hospital bills, Sarah told them, and the father of the Englisch boy who had been driving the car had written a big check to the hospital.
“So good of him,” another woman who had been listening in said.
More likely guilt, Julia couldn’t help thinking, before realizing how uncharitable she’d been. There was a lot to be said about thinking the best of people.
I’ll try, she promised herself.
The entire time she ate, talked to the other women, and cut up food for Abby, she remained disturbingly aware of Luke Bowman. Without even looking, she seemed to know when he wandered from one group of men to another. Twice when she sneaked peeks, his gaze seemed to be resting on her, although she assured herself that, really, he was keeping an eye on his daughter. He worried about her. She’d seen how much. Abby was a lucky little girl, to have a daad like Luke. One who didn’t care that he wasn’t related by blood, either because he had loved Abby’s mother—although not in the way of a man for a woman—or because the small girl who was marched into the store needed him so desperately.
Miriam had told Julia earlier that the social worker had dropped by Luke’s house Thursday night. Apparently this was the second time she’d come by. Ms. Tanner was a woman who did her job right. Even Miriam had sounded approving, as little as the Amish usually allowed themselves to be involved with Englisch authority.
Eventually, Julia went in and helped with cleanup, made welcome instead of being treated as if she were butting in where she didn’t belong. When she emerged from the house, she saw that some young women were playing a vigorous game of volleyball, while the young men cheered them on. Abby on his knee, Luke sat a distance away with his father and several other men.
“Oh, have you met my onkel Mose?” Miriam asked. “He’s Aenti Barbara’s husband, and you know her. That’s their middle son sitting with them, too. Ephraim’s wife just had their fourth baby, a little girl. With Down syndrome, but not so bad, and they love her the way she is.”
Yes, they would.
As if compelled, Julia accompanied Miriam toward the group sitting beneath a huge old oak tree. The tables no longer groaned with food, but no one had made a move yet to load them back on the bench wagon.
Luke’s gaze went right to her, making her self-conscious. Eli smiled at her approach, although his gaze shifted twice to his oldest son.
“Sit, sit,” Eli said, moving over to give the two women room between him and Luke. Julia ended up beside Eli, which was just as well.
She was introduced to Mose and his son Ephraim, and realized she’d worked beside Ephraim’s wife, Daniela, in the kitchen. The babies and most of the younger children were napping in several rooms in the spacious house, one woman or another going upstairs to check on them regularly.
Abby, of course, was sound asleep in her father’s arms. She’d come a long way, but would have been afraid to be left where she couldn’t see him or anyone else in her family.
Or me, Julia thought, except Abby was obviously coming to rely on her grandmother and aunt and didn’t need Julia the same.
Julia heard Miriam murmur to her brother, “Your arms must be tired. Do you want me to take a turn?”
He shook his head. “She doesn’t weigh any more than a bird.”
His hair was growing longer, almost shaggy. Soon his mother would be able to give him the haircut that would make him truly look Amish. Julia couldn’t decide how she felt about that.
“Does anyone know where Elam is?” Eli asked. “I see Deborah with her dishes, which means it’s time for us to go.”
“Oh!” Miriam jumped up and went to her mother to take a basket and a casserole dish. Julia started to get up, too, but Eli laid a hand on her arm.
“No need. You’ve done enough today.”
“Everyone has been so nice, and it was a wonderful meal.”
“Glad we are that Miriam asked you,” he said.
Julia hoped she wasn’t imagining the irony in his voice—and the glance he gave Luke.
Who diverted his father by saying, “I’m surprised Elam didn’t bring his own buggy today. How else can he drive his girl home?”
Eli chuckled deeply. “She’s not his girl yet, and she never will be if he keeps hanging back. Other fellows are courting her, too.”
“The Esch girl?”
“Ja, that’s the one. The right girl makes a coward out of any man, ain’t so?”
All the men present laughed heartily, J
ulia feeling as if she wasn’t meant to hear this—and very aware that Luke alone had not laughed.
Chapter Nineteen
“A LITTLE HIGHER,” Julia directed the two Amishmen standing on a pair of ladders and holding a long slat in place between them. She tipped her head to one side and then the other. “Six inches? No, a little more . . .”
Without a word, they obediently edged the wide slat upward until she said, “There! That’s perfect.” One did the bracing while the other tapped in a nail, after which they looked at her for approval. “That’s great.”
When they placed two other nails and climbed down, she asked them to put others up at the same height. They would be used to display queen-size quilts the full length of this wall inside the grange hall. Men and women both worked throughout the hall, arranging racks and temporary rods and slats on the walls so that quilts of all sizes could be viewed before the auction started. She wasn’t the only non-Amish person present, thank goodness; two other ardent quilters she’d met at A Stitch in Time had also volunteered, bringing their husbands along.
One group unfolded chairs and set them up in long rows with a center aisle. A low stage had been stored in an outbuilding and hauled in for the auctioneer, along with a podium. This auctioneer would not use a microphone.
The woman telling her had chuckled. “Not that Jerry needs one. Ach, that boy always had a loud voice. You wait and see.”
The second auction of fine furniture, crafts, antiques, and more was being set up in a large barn less than a quarter mile away. Parking would be in a field in between. Tables selling food would be outside both the grange hall and the barn so that people going to only one of the auctions would still have a chance to buy an on-the-fly meal and goodies to take home, too.
Because of her bookkeeping experience, Julia would be one of those handling checkout. Since there’d be no computer or fancy program to handle the auction, she didn’t think any particular expertise would be required. Amish businesses in many cases accepted credit cards, but not tonight. They’d take checks, but cash would predominate. Tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of cash. Apparently, Englischers who attended Amish auctions and fundraisers knew to bring their wallets stuffed with bills.
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