“God always answers,” Beth said with a note of conviction. “Sometimes it’s yes, sometimes no, and sometimes He says to wait. Regardless of how God answers, we must accept it as His will.”
“I know,” Linda murmured.
“No matter how this turns out,” Beth said with an encouraging smile, “we’ll get through it together. . .you, me, and our heavenly Father.”
Abby sat on a backless wooden bench inside the quilt barn, observing the auctioneer as he hollered, “The bid’s at three hundred dollars for this Lone Star quilt. Do I hear four hundred?”
In the row ahead, an English woman’s hand shot up as she lifted the piece of cardboard with her bidding number on it.
“Four hundred dollars. Do I hear five?” The bidding went on until the Amish man finally shouted, “Sold at seven hundred dollars!”
Abby was amazed at how many quilts hung inside the tent. What seemed even more astonishing was the amount of people that had crowded into the area to watch the proceedings or bid on a quilt or wall hanging. She recognized the quilt being bid on now and leaned forward. It was one of her mamm’s, and she figured the king-sized covering with various shades of blue would go for a tidy sum. She wasn’t disappointed. It sold for nine hundred dollars. The other quilt her mother had sent was queen-sized, made in the Dahlia pattern with hues of maroon, pink, and white. Soon it was also gone—sold for seven hundred and fifty dollars.
Abby’s spine went rigid when the two young Amish women standing on the raised platform held up one of her quilts—a Double Wedding Ring pattern, with interlocking rings made from two shades of green on a white background.
Tears stung her eyes as she thought about her and Lester’s wedding plans and the quilt she’d been working on before she left Ohio. If she had finished the quilt and they’d gotten married as planned, it would have been covering their bed right now. All that remained of Abby’s previous life as a quilter were the four double-sized quilts about to be auctioned off.
Her heart clenched when the auctioneer shouted, “Sold for six hundred dollars!”
The Amish women held up the second quilt Abby had made. This one was designed in the Distelfink pattern, which had been a favorite among the English who’d come to her shop in Berlin. In short order, it was sold for five hundred dollars.
Tears trickled down Abby’s face, and a sob worked its way up her throat. Oh, Lester, I loved you so much. You sacrificed your life to save my quilts, and I gave you nothing in return.
The third and fourth quilts were then bid on and sold, and Abby swayed as a wave of nausea coursed through her stomach. She’d hoped that seeing her quilts auctioned off would bring release, but it only added to her grief. She stood on trembling legs and pushed her way through the crowd. Outside, she rushed behind the barn where her bicycle was parked. She needed to be alone—to go somewhere and find a quiet place to sit and calm down.
Abby pedaled across the open field, dodging the throng of people shopping at the various booths and weaving in and out of parked cars until she found her way to the main road. She kept the bike moving faster, taking her farther and farther away from the noisy auction and those painful memories of her beautiful quilts.
By the time Abby reached a turnoff for Lake Koocanusa, she was panting for breath. She braked and let her feet drop to the ground, then sat motionless, staring at the vast body of water below while she fought to gain control of her swirling emotions.
A hawk soared overhead, and Abby caught sight of a turkey hen and her chicks stepping out of the brush. The darker leaves of the trees surrounding the lake contrasted with the lighter bottle-green grass growing nearby. It was quiet and peaceful, which was just what she needed right now.
Feeling a need to be closer to the lake, Abby guided her bike slowly down the hill, following a narrow trail and being careful not to get her long dress caught in the bushes. When she reached the bottom, she noticed a young English boy sitting on a boulder with a fishing pole. He appeared to be alone, for she saw no one else in sight. Not wishing to disturb the child, she took a seat on one of the downed trees.
Clasping her hands around her knees, Abby lifted her face to the sun. She tried to pray, but no words would come. A verse of scripture popped into her mind. It was one Elizabeth had shared with her this morning from 1 Peter 1:7. “That the trial of your faith, being much more precious than of gold that perisheth, though it be tried with fire, might be found unto praise and honour and glory at the appearing of Jesus Christ.” That was the second verse about fire Abby had heard since coming to Montana, and she wondered if God might be trying to tell her something. Abby knew her faith had been tried, but she felt as if her trials had done nothing to bring honor or praise to the Lord.
If only I could know peace and happiness again. If I could just be free from the overwhelming guilt I feel because of Lester’s death. If only my life had some meaning.
Splash!
Abby’s eyes snapped open.
“Help! Help!”
She jerked her head to the left, and her breath caught in her throat. The little boy she’d seen fishing had obviously fallen into the lake, and he was in trouble.
Abby scrambled off the log and jumped into the lake, giving no thought to the clothes she wore. Her father had taught her and Harold how to swim when they were little, but she hadn’t gone swimming in several years. Even so, she soon discovered that, like riding a bike, she hadn’t forgotten what to do in the water.
The boy continued to fight as he flailed his arms. His head bobbed up and down in the water. Abby reached out and grabbed the edge of his shirt, pulling him closer to her. She wrapped her arms around his chest, but the child floundered around as he fought to remain afloat.
“Calm down. Don’t panic. I’ve got you now.” Abby hoped he would soon relax, for if he kept thrashing like this, they might both drown. “Dear God, help us!” she shouted above the boy’s screams.
The child went limp, making it easier for her to swim while she pulled him to shore. A short time later, they both lay on the grassy bank, the boy coughing and sobbing, Abby gulping in deep breaths of air. She was aware that her kapp was missing, her bun had come loose, and a clump of soggy hair pushed against her shoulders. Her dress was soaked, and so were her sneakers, but she didn’t care. The child was safe, and that’s all that mattered.
The boy stared at her with brown eyes, huge as chestnuts. “You—you saved my life.”
She smiled. “What’s your name?”
“Peter. I live up the hill.”
“I’m Abby, Peter, and I think I’d better take you home.”
He hiccuped on a sob. “Mama’s gonna be real mad, ’cause she’s told me never to come to the lake by myself.”
Abby’s heart went out to the child, but she knew what had to be done. “My bicycle is parked up the hill. We can ride double. How’s that sound?”
Peter nodded, and she helped him to his feet. “I think I lost my pole,” he whimpered.
“A fishing pole can be replaced, but you can’t. Your mother will be happy to know you’re okay.”
Sometime later, with Peter riding on the handlebars in front of her, Abby pedaled into the boy’s yard. A young woman with dark brown hair worn in a ponytail rushed out of the log home and onto the driveway. “Peter! Where were you, and why are your clothes all wet?”
“I—I went fishin’, and I fell into the lake when a big one grabbed hold of my line,” the child answered.
Peter’s mother lifted him from the handlebars and hugged him tightly.
“I heard the splash and realized he was in water over his head and couldn’t swim,” Abby said.
The boy’s mother stared at Abby. “Who are you?”
“Abby Miller, and I—”
“She jumped into the water and saved me, Mama,” Peter interrupted, as his mother set him on the ground. “I would’ve drowned if she hadn’t come along.”
Abby’s cheeks warmed as Peter threw himself into her arms. “I’m glad
I was there,” she whispered.
Peter’s mother gave Abby an unexpected hug. “I’m Sharon Beal, and I thank you for saving my son.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Why don’t you come into the house and dry off? You’re probably cold.”
Abby shook her head. “I’m all right.”
“At least let me get you a towel.”
Abby glanced at her dress. She’d wrung it out the best she could, but it was sopping wet and stuck miserably to her skin. “Jah, I’d appreciate a towel.”
Sharon patted her son on the head. “Run into the house and get some towels for you and Abby.”
“Okay.” Peter hesitated a moment, offered Abby a toothless grin, and scampered away.
“You were in the right place at the right time; there’s no doubt in my mind,” Sharon said to Abby. “God was watching out for my boy and brought you along at the exact moment it was needed.”
Abby stared at the ground, puzzled by the woman’s remark. Had she really gone to the lake because God had ordained it? If that were so, then why hadn’t—
“Are you okay? You seem troubled.”
Abby lifted her gaze to meet Sharon’s. “I was wondering why God would send me to rescue Peter but let the man I was supposed to marry die.”
Sharon tipped her head as a look of confusion clouded her dark eyes. Before Abby could explain, Peter came running toward them with a towel draped around his neck and another one in his hands. He handed the second towel to Abby. “Here ya go.”
“Thank you.”
“Now run inside and change into some dry clothes,” his mother said.
Peter bounded off again, offering Abby a quick wave before he departed.
“Before my son came out, you said something about the man you were supposed to marry dying,” Sharon said. “Do you mind if I ask what happened?”
Abby rubbed the towel briskly over her arms and legs. She didn’t know why she felt compelled to tell this near stranger about the fire that had snuffed out Lester’s life, but she found herself pouring out the whole story. “If I’d only realized that the dream I kept having was a warning and returned to Ohio sooner, Lester might still be alive,” she said with a catch in her voice.
Sharon’s forehead wrinkled. “Is that how you see it?”
Abby nodded.
“There’s a passage of scripture in Ecclesiastes 3:1 that says, ‘To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.’ ” Sharon touched Abby’s arm, and Abby felt warmth and comfort. “I believe God allows us to experience certain things in life that help us grow and learn to rely on Him. Even if you had returned to Ohio sooner, the fire might still have destroyed your quilt shop, and you could have been the one killed. Or perhaps both you and Lester would have perished.”
Abby trembled as a rush of emotions spiraled through her body. “I’ve often wished I had been burned in the fire. It would have been better to have lost my own life than to have endured the pain of losing the man I loved.”
Sharon slipped her arm around Abby’s shoulder. “If you had died in the fire, you wouldn’t have come to Montana. And if you hadn’t come here, you would not have been at the lake this afternoon to save my boy.”
“I—I guess you’re right.” Abby drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. “I’ve spent these last seven months feeling sorry for myself, wallowing in guilt, and trying to drown out the past by working so hard, when I should have been trying to deal with things.”
“It’s all right to grieve, Abby, but you must remember that the Lord is near to those with a broken heart. It says so in Psalm 34:18. All you need to do is call out to Him, and He will give you comfort, whether it be through His Word, by helping others, or in something as simple as a child’s touch.”
“Thank you,” Abby said tearfully. “I’ve strayed so far from God these past several months, and I surely needed that reminder.”
The two women hugged again, and Abby handed the wet towel to Sharon. “I must be going now or my friend Elizabeth will wonder where I am.”
“Good-bye, Abby, and may God bless you in the days ahead.”
As Abby pedaled her bicycle toward the auction barn, the verses of scripture Peter’s mother had shared played over and over in her mind. Seeing her quilts auctioned off had put an end to the reminder of her quilt shop, but it had not put an end to the pain of losing Lester or lessened her guilt. However, a few simple passages from the Bible and the kind words of a grateful mother had helped Abby see the truth. For the first time since Lester’s death, she was glad to be alive.
Abby drew in a deep breath, savoring the clean mountain air. She noticed the budding wildflowers growing along the edge of the road, and joined the birds in song as they warbled a happy tune from the trees overhead. Jah, it was wunderbaar gut to be alive!
A car whizzed past, and Abby gripped the handlebars, moving her bike to the edge of the road. Guess some things aren’t so different even here in the woods. She glanced at a covey of quail running into the bushes, and smiled, refusing to let the speeding motorist spoil the moment. She could hardly wait to tell Elizabeth all that had happened after she’d left the quilt barn. Surely her new friend would share in this joy. Abby thought about Mom and the rest of the family waiting in Pennsylvania. I’ll send them a letter right away.
Abby’s attention was drawn back to the road when she heard a noise, and two female deer stepped out of the woods. She swerved to keep from hitting them, but her back tire spun in the gravel and she lost control. The last thing Abby remembered was the trunk of a cedar tree coming straight toward her.
Abby moaned as she squinted against the ray of light streaming into the room. Her head ached, her vision was fuzzy, and nothing seemed familiar. Where am I? She tried to stretch and winced when a throbbing pain shot through her leg. Oh! What’s happened to me?
“I’m glad you’re finally awake. You’ve been in and out for the last couple of days.”
Abby didn’t recognize the woman’s voice. She turned her head and blinked at the middle-aged woman with short auburn hair who stood beside her bed. She wore a nurse’s uniform. “Wh–where am I?” she rasped.
“You’re in the hospital. You were brought to Libby by ambulance late Saturday afternoon.”
Abby tried to sit up, but the dull ache in her head prevented her from doing so.
“Better lie still,” the nurse instructed. “You’ve had a serious concussion, and your leg is broken.” She touched Abby’s arm. “From what I was told, you took quite a spill, so it could have been a lot worse.”
Abby squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember what had happened. Saturday morning she’d gone to the auction and had watched her quilts being auctioned off. Then, unable to bear the pain of it all, she had ridden Elizabeth’s bike down to the lake. There’d been a little boy there. He’d fallen into the water, and she’d rescued him. When Abby took Peter home, his mother had shared some verses of scripture and words of wisdom, helping her realize that life did have meaning, and because she had come to the lake when she did, Sharon’s son had been saved.
And last, Abby remembered getting back on her bike and heading toward the auction. There were two deer on the road, and. . .
Her eyes snapped open. “I—I skidded in some gravel and must have hit a tree.”
The nurse nodded. “That’s what the paramedics figured had happened, although you were unconscious when they arrived and so, naturally, you weren’t able to tell them anything.”
“Who found me, do you know?”
“A man and woman who were driving to the Amish auction spotted you lying alongside of the road. They called 9–1–1 on their cell phone, and after the ambulance arrived, they drove to the auction and told someone what had happened.”
Abby curved her fingers under her chin. “Oh, my! Elizabeth must be so worried. She probably wonders why I never came back and doesn’t know where I am.”
“Elizabeth King?”
�
��Jah.”
“I guess with the description the English couple gave to the people in charge, they were able to figure out it was you who had been hurt. Elizabeth is here now, in the waiting room.”
Abby drew in a deep breath. “Can I see her?”
“Certainly. I’ll send her right in.” The nurse left the room, and a few minutes later, Elizabeth entered with a worried expression on her face.
“Oh, Abby, I’m so glad you’re going to be all right.” She rushed to the side of Abby’s bed. “When the doctor told me you’d had a concussion, I was terribly worried.”
“The nurse said my leg’s broken, too.”
Elizabeth nodded and took a seat in the closest chair. “What were you doing out there with my bike?”
“I—I decided to go for a ride.”
“But I thought you were going to help me and the other ladies serve the meal after you’d watched some of the quilts being auctioned off.”
“I had planned on that.”
“When it came time to get things set out, you were nowhere to be found, but it wasn’t until later that I really began to worry.”
Abby’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry for causing you to worry.”
“It’s you I’m concerned about.” Elizabeth reached for Abby’s hand. “What made you decide to go for a bike ride?”
“I had hoped if my quilts sold, it would put an end to my past and make me feel better.”
“Did it?”
Abby shook her head. “I felt worse, and the only thing I could think to do was get off by myself for a while.” She went on to tell Elizabeth about the boy who had fallen into the lake and how she’d saved him. Then she relayed what Peter’s mother had said when she’d taken him home and how the woman had helped her see things more clearly. “I was planning to share this with you when I got back to the auction, which was where I was heading when I ran into a tree.”
Elizabeth’s eyes watered, yet she smiled. “I’m glad you’ve come to grips with the past and are ready to face the future.”
The Quilter's Daughter Page 25
