Almost every afternoon of Julia’s childhood was spent sitting on the floor next to her mother while she sat sewing at her quilt frame or tracing around templates for quilt blocks. When it came to quilt-making, Maggie Lapp’s quilts stood out. She said her quilts were designed to wrap a person with the warmth of loving arms, as healing as homemade chicken soup. She had more orders than she could handle and was often weeks behind in her work, but she always had time for her family—to listen to them natter away about school, teachers, friends, animals, crops, anything that might be weighing on their minds. And the thing was, she didn’t just pretend to listen while slipping her needle through the fabric, making tiny, even stitches. She truly listened. She made everyone feel important.
Why, that’s where Sadie got that quality, Julia realized.
She wrapped Menno’s quilt up carefully, wondering when it might be used. Was he serious about Annie? Was she serious about him? What would her mother say about Menno having a girlfriend? Julia used to try to cobble together conversations she would have with her mother, but the older she became, the less she felt she knew her mother. She had known her as a child, but not as a woman. What would Maggie have said about Edith Fisher—accusing Julia of being prideful over her quilts? What would she say about Rome’s idea to raise money to help her husband with a heart transplant? Julia really had no idea.
She startled when she heard a sound behind her. There was Fern, standing against the doorjamb in her usual way, arms crossed against her chest. “My father had a saying: ‘Burying your talents is a grave mistake.’”
Julia looked down at Menno’s quilt in her lap.
Fern walked up to Julia. “In the Bible, Jesus tells a story about a king who gave his servants some talents and told them to use them in his absence. He gave five talents to one servant, three to another, one to the last servant. When he returned, he wanted to know how they had used their talents. The five talent fellow had doubled his talents. So did the three talent fellow. But one servant—he buried it.” Fern put a hand on Julia’s head. “God has given you a good gift and you have an opportunity to give God back a gift. But not if you bury it.”
“But . . . Edith Fisher—”
“Edith Fisher is not the king returning to ask the servants about their talents.” She bent at the waist and cupped Julia’s face in her hands. “You are to answer to God for your life.” She turned and left Julia alone.
As Julia sat in the dimly lit room, a frightening—almost exhilarating—sense of purpose came over her. She placed Menno’s quilt back into the trunk and gently closed it. She opened the bottom drawer of the corner hutch and plunged her hand beneath a pile of seldom-used linens to pluck out her hidden journal. In it were pages and pages of quilt top ideas, waiting. Just waiting. Waiting for the right design, the right fabrics, the right moment. She slipped the journal into her apron pocket, picked up the lamp, and hurried up the stairs to her room. Maybe the right moment was now.
17
Contrary to popular belief, Julia did very few things in her life with extreme self-confidence, but designing a quilt top had always been one of them. Her mother used to tell her she had a gift for design and construction, the ability to create the most beautiful and intricate quilts imaginable. And now that she’d started designing again, she felt ideas pouring out of her. They were flooding her brain so fast she didn’t have time to get them down on paper. Something special happened as she put swatches of fabric against each other, something instinctive. She tackled the quilt top with a surety of purpose, led by an inner prompting.
Everyone honored Julia’s request to stay out of the dining room and let her work without interruption or well-meaning suggestions. She started a few patches as trial pieces, just to see how the colors interacted. She laid them out on the dining room table. She stood back to observe her work and ended up throwing them away. She had to start over. They were good, but not good enough.
It was hard. Time was growing short. The fundraising auction Rome had organized was only two weeks away. He was working so hard on it. She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead. She felt hot, nauseated, and more than a little panicked. What if she couldn’t create something special? What if she created the quilt top but couldn’t get it quilted in time? What if it didn’t raise as much money as last year’s quilt? So much to worry about! But she wouldn’t think about all that now. She had to stay focused.
This quilt was for her father’s new heart—it had to be her best work.
Sadie kept nudging Menno to finish up his breakfast. Julia had scheduled the grand unveiling of the quilt top this morning, and Sadie couldn’t wait to see what this quilt looked like. She felt more nervous than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Finally, Menno swallowed his last spoonful of oatmeal and Sadie jumped up from the table.
“Now, Jules?”
Julia took a deep breath. “Now.”
Julia had been working on this quilt fourteen hours a day for the last ten days. She’d barely been seen. She had put up sheets to block off the living room so no one could even peek at the work in progress. Now and then she would emerge to send someone off to the fabric store in town for more thread or a certain color of fabric.
Finally, the moment had come. M.K. ran to the room, with Sadie right on her heels, then Fern and Rome and Menno. M.K., barely able to contain herself, grabbed the sheet and looked for a nod from Julia, then pulled the sheet off.
It was the most exquisite thing Sadie had ever seen: the Lone Star—a common Lancaster pattern—set into bright turquoise blue. Julia had sewn such tiny points together that they almost blurred together like a child’s kaleidoscope. Bold colors, ones that normally would never be thought to lie next to each other, came together to provide incredible depth. A two-inch border of simple but tiny nine-patch pieces rimmed the star. The tiny squares—made up from the very fabrics that she had sent M.K. and Menno off to the store with crayons and orders to match that specific color—blended into each other. Dark green faded softly into light green, reds into pinks. Only the corner patches—made up of boldly contrasting colors—jolted one’s eyes back into focus. The quilt top was fastened into a large quilting frame, ready for quilting.
Sadie wasn’t the only one who was speechless. She, Fern, Rome, Menno, even M.K. who was rarely without words, walked silently around the table, absorbing the sight.
Julia stood by the living room door. “Someone, please say something.”
Rome looked up at her. “Words fail me, Julia. It’s . . . overwhelmingly beautiful.”
“It’s awesome,” Menno said, using a word he had picked up from Annie.
M.K. threw her arms around Julia’s middle for a hug.
Fern was eyeing the quilt with a critical squint. Finally, she gave Julia a satisfied nod. From Fern, that was high praise.
Julia’s eyes filled with tears. She tried to blink them back, but Sadie could see relief flood her face.
“Now, you all need to leave so I can get busy with the quilting.”
“That’s one thing we can help with,” Fern said. “The ladies are coming to quilt today.” She pointed out the window to two buggies, jammed full of women, rolling up the driveway to Windmill Farm.
Julia joined her at the window. “How did they . . . how did you know?”
Fern shrugged. “Figured it was about time.” She turned to Sadie and M.K. “They’re expecting lunch, so you two . . . hop to it.”
Sadie was stunned.
M.K. read her mind. “She’s letting us in the kitchen!”
Fern whirled around and pointed to M.K. “Only because I’ve seen your quilt stitches.” She frowned. “You might as well use knitting needles. All you’re doing today is preparing the food that I’ve already made. And cleanup.” She wagged a finger at the two. “That’s all. Nothing more.”
Even Sadie couldn’t hold back a grin when she saw a slightly worried look dance through Fern’s eyes.
Two days later, on Thursday afternoon, Sadie w
as self-conscious beyond belief as she sat in the buggy next to Rome. He happened to be driving by as she was walking home from town after helping M.K. and Menno canvas Stoney Ridge with flyers in storefronts that said “Have a Heart for a Heart.” She tried to think of something wise, something witty to say to Rome, but her mind was a blank canvas.
Rome pointed to the flyers in her hands. “Did M.K. talk you into working for her?”
“She came up with the idea of talking the Stoney Ridge Times into running a story about the fundraiser, so she and Menno went to go find a reporter,” Sadie said. “M.K. can talk anybody into just about anything.” They’d all been working hard on getting the fundraising auction organized, especially Rome.
He laughed. “You’ve got a good heart, Sadie. I knew it the moment I set eyes on you when you were just knee high to a grasshopper.”
Her capstrings dipped as she shook her head.
“Can I let you in on a secret?”
A little thrill went through her. “What’s that?” She realized her heart was racing, even as her mind spun with new possibilities.
He pointed his thumb toward the backseat. Sadie turned to look and saw a number of stacked boxes of Kerr jars. “Not those. The jars are for my honey. The other box.” Then she saw what he meant: a large box, covered with a saddle blanket. “It’s a new treadle sewing machine.”
“You’re learning to sew?”
He smiled. “Not hardly. It’s for Julia. I’ve fixed that one she has for the last time. It’s so old that belts are snapping and screws are rusting out. If it weren’t for the fact that your dad kept a box of old parts, I wouldn’t have been able to patch it together as long as I have.” He lifted a shoulder in a careless half shrug, but a slightly embarrassed look flickered through his eyes. “This one was on sale at the hardware store. The paint chipped when it shipped, so they gave it to me for a song. I can touch up the paint and it’ll be as good as new.”
Sadie was stunned. Did Rome have feelings for Julia? The truth burst over her. Had she been so blinded with love for Rome that she hadn’t even noticed? She fussed with the apron in her lap as if it were a chick she was trying to calm.
“It’s not a big deal,” Rome said hurriedly. “I just got tired of trying to keep that thing running.” A flush stained his cheeks.
She looked up, then immediately looked down again. “She’ll be thrilled, Rome.” She tried to smile, but it came out feeling fake. “Really. It’s a wonderful surprise for her.”
At supper that evening, Sadie carefully watched Julia and Rome, sitting side by side. They stole little glances at each other, laughed at each other’s comments. It was revelatory. It was a moment of clarity, like the sun breaking through the clouds.
Something had passed between them and Sadie had not even seen when it had happened. She felt a sharp, clean slice through her gut. She had held out hope that, some day, Rome would fall in love with her. She knew it was juvenile, but that was how she felt.
Her life was over.
Rome liked his cottage. It was comfortable, with enough furniture to be functional but not enough to crowd him. The bed was large enough to accommodate his tall frame. Next to it was a washstand and across the room were a chest and a bookcase. Once he was at the cottage, his heart started to settle, like a dog by the hearth, like a baby in its crib.
It was strange. He caught a whiff of something—lavender?—that brought Julia to his mind. That woman had gotten under his skin, and it bothered him. It was more than her beauty, there was something sweet and vulnerable about her that unearthed feelings inside him that he hadn’t known he possessed. Feelings that made him think differently about his life.
This summer, an unacceptable longing kept piercing his heart. It was for home, an end point. Everyone kept telling him he was not supposed to be constantly in transit. He was supposed to stop somewhere and feel a sense of belonging. Until now, he kept dismissing such unasked-for advice. But pangs of homesickness kept needling him these last few months despite his efforts to push them away.
He leaned his head back. Rome was sometimes struck by images of his Ohio home: opening up the farmhouse, filling it again with family—a wife, four or five or six children, a dog like Lulu. He could practically see this imaginary family of his playing in the yard, bees humming in their hives near the garden just where his mother had kept them.
What if he returned to the farm in Ohio instead of traveling this winter? Was he ready? Was it time?
These were foolish thoughts. What was wrong with him? He pulled off his straw hat and slammed it on the table. Lulu looked up in surprise.
“Don’t pay me any never mind, Lulu. I think I’m getting a little touched by too much sun.”
The dog stared at him with soulful brown eyes. Idly, he fingered one of her long, silky ears. He trailed his fingers over the dog’s back. Rome didn’t like admitting it, but he was going to miss Lulu when he left. He was going to miss all of the Lapps.
What was the matter with him lately? Everything in his life had gone off balance, and he didn’t know how to straighten it out. He wished he could talk to Julia about his mixed-up feelings, but that would be counterproductive, considering she was the major cause of his confusion. These last few months, Julia had become much more to him than Amos’s daughter. She was his friend. She was more than his friend. There was something about Julia that made him feel at home, at rest. She understood him better than anyone else. Also, he didn’t want to kiss his friends. And he definitely wanted to kiss her again.
Was it possible? One thought kept hammering at his thick head like a woodpecker, filling him with an odd mixture of excitement and dread. Could it be? Had he let himself get blindsided? Me? Roamin’ Roman? The Bee Man? The solitary bee? A queer ache settled deep inside and he felt himself start to sweat.
He was falling in love with Julia Lapp.
At first, the realization stunned him, but as he rolled it around in his mind, he found he liked the sound, the thought of it. He liked it very much.
After the auction, he’d tell her. Would she even believe him? He could hardly believe it himself.
He was going to do his best to start over. A new beginning. For the first time in six years, he was going to set aside his refusal to be attached to anyone. He was going to reach out to someone. To a woman. To Julia.
The very idea of it made him feel foolishly happy. For the first time in a long time, Rome felt an excitement about the future.
One by one, Julia sliced the stems of the massive heads of sunflowers that lined the back row of her garden and carefully laid them on a sheet. She would store the flower heads in the greenhouse. Those sunflower seeds would fill Menno’s bird feeders this winter.
Julia saw someone out of the corner of her eye, silhouetted by the setting sun. Paul stood there, waiting for her to notice him. “Jules, I need to talk to you.”
“Now?”
“Yes,” he said.
She studied his face. He was earnest, supplicant, hurting. He was all there, concentrated on her. Tears welled in his beautiful blue eyes.
“This is just awful. This is just, well, it’s confusing.” He sounded hurt and lost and miserable. “You and me. This wall that’s gone up between us.”
She closed the pocketknife. “Paul, this is what you wanted. You said you wanted us to take a break.”
“I was a fool. I don’t want a break any longer.” He reached out for her hands and gazed down into her face.
She risked a look at him. His eyes were the clear blue of a cloudless summer day, his hair the pale bronze of sun-steeped tea. He was considered a handsome man by all who knew him. She had known him most of her life, yet she suddenly felt awkward and uncomfortable around him.
“Marry me, Jules. This time for real.”
Julia’s heart plummeted and skipped at the same time, like a stone skimming the surface of a pond. She had been waiting for months for this moment. This was what she wanted to hear, wasn’t it? Why, then, did she feel
so stiff, so detached? “What about Lizzie?”
With a gentle tug, Paul pulled Julia closer to him. His gaze swept her face and lingered on her lips. “I’ve never gotten over you. You know that, don’t you? I don’t want anybody but you.”
But Julia wasn’t quite ready. “How do I know you won’t want to have another postponement? That you won’t find yourself attracted to another girl?”
Paul’s voice was urgent. “Because I won’t. I promise.”
She was surprised at how hope broke open inside her like a radiance, softening her sorrow and anger. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to trust him.
And then she heard him draw in a deep breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was clear and strong. “Jules,” he said again, impatient now. “Say yes. Say you’ll marry me. It’s not too late for things to be made right between us. Remember? How easy it used to be?” He slipped his arms around her waist. “Remember how we would meet up at Blue Lake Pond when our folks sent us on errands into town?”
Julia hadn’t been to Blue Lake Pond in a long while. The place had been special to them, it was their spot. It was the place they had always met when they wanted to be alone. The pond lay like a small, glimmering jewel in the center of the world, where it was safely tucked away from the bustle of town life. It had always been her favorite place. Even on the hottest August days, its spring-fed water was clear and cold, and the thick barrier of trees and underbrush acted like a fence around it. The spot was quiet and private, perfect for secret thoughts.
It was where he had first kissed her on her sixteenth birthday. They had first talked about getting married there, and then he had called off the wedding there, claiming he needed more time.
Julia thought back to that day. They met at dusk, like they always did, after their chores on their family farms for that autumn day were done. It was mid-October, just four weeks before the wedding. Paul was waiting for her, leaning against the tree with his hat brim hiding his face. She called to him and he slowly lifted his head, then dropped it again. Julia knew something was wrong the moment she reached him and looked into his eyes. A person’s eyes, they could tell you everything. An awful shudder ripped through her. She never imagined anything could hurt that badly.
The Keeper Page 20
