Katie's Way

by Marta Perry

  “Wh-where t-to?” William said.

  Caleb nodded to the space between the windows on the outside wall, and they picked it up again, edging it across the floor to set it carefully in place. “Gut.” He patted the cabinet. “Denke, William.”

  “Glad to. Anything else I c-can help with?” William looked . . . well, hopeful. Maybe he was feeling at loose ends, not quite so needed anymore.

  If so, Isaac ought to be setting the boy up in some job or other, not keep him hanging around to help out. And William wasn’t really a boy anymore—he was only a couple years younger than Caleb.

  “Would you want to work on those quilt racks I started?” Caleb asked the question with a bit of hesitation, not sure how William would react. Or Isaac, for that matter.

  But William’s grin was answer enough. “Ja, I w-would like that.”

  “Gut, gut.” Caleb clapped his shoulder. “Let’s go, then.”

  They’d headed for the stairs when William stopped. “Ach, I near f-forgot. Your mamm says to r-r-remember her f-fabric.”

  For an instant Caleb’s mind was blank, and then he realized that he was supposed to pick up from Katie something Mamm needed for her quilt. “Right. She told me last night, and I was forgetting already. Go ahead up, and I’ll be along in a couple of minutes.”

  If it had been anyone else who needed something, he might have made some excuse to avoid talking to Katie. But he couldn’t do that to Mamm. She’d see through it anyway, and he’d have to explain.

  So he’d poke his head into Katie’s shop and get this errand over with quick. No need for more than business between them.

  As soon as he stepped through the archway, he realized Katie was taking care of a customer ... an Englisch woman he didn’t know. He would retreat, but Katie had seen him, so he pottered along the shelves as she finished.

  Katie had a nice, easy way with the Englisch customer. He’d noticed that before . . . envied it a little, if truth be known. He got near as tongue-tied as William when a strange Englisch woman ventured into his shop.

  Not that he was all that talkative with the Amish, either. Maybe that was why he liked having William around when he needed help. No need to chatter with William or pretend interest he didn’t feel.

  Not that Katie was putting on anything. Her manner to the woman was as open and friendly as it was with everyone else. That warmth of hers just seemed to be something she was born with, as far as he could tell.

  The woman left, finally, calling good-bye over her shoulder as if to an old friend. Katie turned to him, and he wasn’t imagining how her face changed, how it became wary. Obviously it wasn’t quite everyone who got her warm side.

  “Can I help you with something, Caleb?” Her tone was brisk.

  He pulled the square of fabric Mamm had given him from his pocket. “My mother wants another three yards of this.” He handed the fabric over, trying to avoid his fingers brushing hers. “Something about changing the pattern a bit. She said you’d understand.”

  Katie’s expression eased as she stroked the material. “Ja, I do. She’s decided to make this color more dominant. I like the idea. Your mamm has a wonderful gut eye for design.”

  She walked quickly down a row of fabric bolts, pulled one out, and carried it to the counter. She began unrolling the material, measuring it with deft hands against a yardstick fastened to the countertop.

  “She makes beautiful quilts, that’s for sure,” he said. “And it’s wonderful gut to see her take an interest in it again.”

  “I’m glad.” Katie’s tone went warm on the words. “How is she doing?”

  He shrugged, not sure how he’d gotten into talking to Katie about Mamm. “We’re always trying to get her out of the house and visiting with people, but she still says no more often than ja.”

  Katie frowned, apparently in concentration, as she cut the piece. She folded it, hands smoothing the fabric as she did. “I wonder . . .”

  He lifted his eyebrows. “What?”

  As if making a decision, she pulled a sheet of paper from under the counter and showed it to him. He frowned, reading the piece. It was a flyer advertising a quilting group.

  “I’m starting a group to meet here at the shop once a week to quilt together,” Katie said. “Everyone from beginners to experienced quilters is most wilkom. I wonder if maybe your mamm would like that. We would love to have such an accomplished quilter join us. Do you think she might?”

  He doubted it, but he hated to say so to Katie, who was being kinder than he probably deserved. “I’ll show it to her. Denke, Katie. That is ser gut of you.”

  She smiled, putting the paper in a bag with the material. “Your mamm would be doing me a favor if she came.”

  “I will tell her that.” He hesitated. He could, maybe should, walk away now, his errand complete. But there was something else that needed to be said. “Katie, about your sister . . .”

  Her blue eyes turned to ice. “My sister is not your concern.”

  “I know. You were right to be upset with me at the singing. I shouldn’t have spoken about it. And I have to admit everything went fine.”

  She didn’t thaw, at least not that he could see. “You have to admit? That sounds as if you think you have a right to judge how my sister behaves during her rumspringa. Of all people, you—”

  Katie stopped midsentence, her cheeks turning scarlet.

  So, she knew. Someone had told her about him. He tried to ignore the faint, bitter taste of it.

  “Considering what I got up to in my rumspringa, ja?” His jaw felt as if it would break if he said anything more, but he forced words out. “Someone has been telling you about me.”

  She looked as if she would speak, but he shook his head.

  “It’s all right. Everyone in Pleasant Valley knows about me.” He couldn’t help it—the bitterness seeped into his voice. “I am not a gut pattern for any young person to follow, ain’t so?”

  It was useless. He couldn’t talk about this. He turned away. Katie grabbed his wrist. He was so startled at the feel of her slim, strong fingers against his skin that he couldn’t move.

  “I am sorry for your pain.” Warmth colored her words, seeming to ease through him.

  He turned slowly to look at her, seeing the sympathy in her face. And not just sympathy. Something more. Something that seemed to say she understood how much love can hurt.

  “Denke, Katie.” His throat closed. But he didn’t have anything else to say anyway.

  “The past should be forgiven,” she said earnestly, gazing into his eyes as if she had to be sure she impressed him. “It should be forgiven and forgotten, Caleb. Can’t you do that for yourself?”

  He shook his head, the black anger he sometimes felt threatening to overwhelm him. “It’s not so easy as that. Do you think you could forgive and forget when you’ve been hurt badly by someone you love?”

  Her face changed, the bright color fading, as if she’d come up against something that frightened her. “I . . . I don’t know.” She stumbled on the words, then put her hand to her lips, looking stricken. “I don’t know.”

  What had he done? He wanted to erase that expression from her face, but he didn’t know how. If he could find the words . . .

  But she moved away, shutting him out. She fumbled with something on the counter, her rigid back saying she was fighting for control. And that anything he had to say would be unwelcome.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Katie picked up the large black umbrella that lived in a milk can next to the door. The milk can was a silent invitation to anyone who came in with a wet umbrella that here was the spot for it—not dripping on the floor.

  She hadn’t had much use for umbrellas since she’d opened. Until yesterday, May had been fairly dry, which meant that everyone would welcome today’s steady, gentle rainfall.

  She glanced at Rhoda, who leaned on the counter, staring gloomily out at the rain.

  “I’m going to bring flyers around to some of the store
s. Take care of things until I get back, ja? Then you can have a lunch break.”

  Rhoda’s lower lip came out. “Why do you bother to stay open on such a rainy day? No one will be out shopping anyway.”

  “You have someplace very important to go, do you?” Katie raised her eyebrows.

  “No place to go and nothing to do here, for sure. If I was home—”

  “If you were home, you’d be helping Mammi with the ironing today. Would you rather do that?”

  Katie couldn’t help the slight exasperation in her voice. Had she been this annoying when she was a teenager? Dealing with Rhoda was sometimes like coping with a tired two-year-old.

  Rhoda didn’t dignify that question with an answer. Well, there wasn’t anything she could say that would make Katie change her mind anyway. As long as Rhoda was here, she had to pull her weight in the shop.

  “Keep the store open. And be pleasant if anyone comes in.”

  “No one will,” Rhoda muttered, determined to get in the last word as Katie went out the door.

  The patter of the rain on her umbrella was better than the discontent in Rhoda’s voice. Becky had not come in to work at Caleb’s today, which was probably the main issue, but Rhoda could hardly expect to have a friend in every day.

  At least she shouldn’t expect to have that. Maybe Rhoda was missing her pesky little sisters more than she wanted to admit. Katie felt that way at times, that was certain-sure.

  Mamm’s most recent letter had been full of chatter about the things she and Louise were making for Louise’s marriage. About the plans they had started already, even though the wedding was not until November. The letter had not said a word about Rhoda coming home.

  Katie pressed her lips together. She should be ashamed of herself, thinking of that. Rhoda was her little sister, and she was always welcome.

  She reached the corner and stepped back to avoid being splashed by a car that took the turn too fast, sending up a spray of water. Rhoda actually had a point about customers. No one seemed to be out on Main Street today.

  Funny, that people would let the weather keep them inside, because the day wasn’t really all that unpleasant. The air was warm, and the rain had settled down to a gentle drizzle. The tulips in pots along the sidewalk seemed to lift their heads in welcome.

  Katie knew what she was doing. She was using Rhoda, the rain, and anything else she could come up with to avoid thinking about Caleb’s words. And more important, about her reaction to them.

  She’d seen the pain in his face when he’d talked about his past, and she’d longed to comfort him. The words about forgiving and forgetting had just seemed to say themselves.

  And then he’d turned her own words back on her, and it was as if Caleb had shone a bright light onto her very soul, showing the dark things that dwelt there.

  Caleb didn’t know about Eli and Jessica. How could he?

  Anyway, she had forgiven them. She’d prayed about it and she’d forgiven.

  As for forgetting ... well, maybe she of all people should have known better than to suggest that Caleb could forget. Caleb couldn’t forget the pain of that betrayal any more than she could.

  Katie had reached the bookstore that was her destination and paused in the doorway, shaking out the umbrella and ordering her thoughts carefully before entering. She stepped inside, glancing around at the shelves of books . . . brightly colored paperbacks and hardbacks of all types. There was even a rack of used books on sale for only fifty cents each.

  She felt herself drawn toward those books and pulled back firmly. She didn’t have money to spare right now, and as much as she loved to read, the shop seemed to take all her time and energy. To say nothing of Rhoda taking any energy that might be left over after the shop. And Rhoda’s idea of fun wasn’t sitting in a comfortable chair losing herself in a book.

  “Morning. Can I help you with anything?”

  The white-haired man who emerged from behind the counter sounded as if he hoped not. He had his finger marking a place in a book, and with his hair ruffled and wire-rimmed glasses sliding down his nose, he looked as if he had been enjoying a rainy day by immersing himself in his own stock.

  “Good morning. I’m Katie Miller. I just opened the quilt shop down the street.”

  “Oh, yes, I think I heard something about that.” The vagueness of his expression said he hadn’t paid much attention. “I’m Cliff Wainwright. Owner of Cliff’s Books, obviously.”

  He started to hold out his hand, realized it held a book, and stopped, putting it down and dusting his fingers on a white handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. “What can I do for you, Ms. Miller?”

  “I have some flyers here.” She caught a negative expression on his face and hurried on. “For a quilting group I’m starting at my shop. I hoped you would be willing to give them to any of your customers who might be interested.”

  He stared at the papers she held out, and then he nodded toward the counter. “There’s room right by the register, where people will see them when they check out. You can leave them there if you want, so people can pick one up if they’re interested.”

  “Denke. Thank you,” she corrected herself. “I appreciate it.”

  She wasn’t sure what room he referred to. The counter was nearly covered with books and magazines, to say nothing of a fine layer of dust. Books, she supposed, would generate dust, just as fabric generated lint. Since there wasn’t an empty space, she put the flyers on top of an existing pile.

  “Thank you,” she said again. “I am sorry if I interrupted your reading.”

  He stared at her for a moment, and then he chuckled, the sound catching her by surprise. “You caught me. To tell the truth, I enjoy the days when nobody comes in. Then I can read to my heart’s content.”

  “But a shop needs customers.”

  Mr. Wainwright shook his head. “Only if you’re in business to make money.” He chuckled again. “Owning a bookshop in a small town always seemed to me the perfect life, so when I retired I opened this place. I love everything about it . . . the books, the quiet, the atmosphere.”

  “I can see why.” The comfortable clutter of books appealed to her, too.

  “I like everything except the customers, always coming in and asking for the latest bestsellers as if they have to read what everybody else does. Yep, running a bookstore would be perfect if not for the customers.”

  He shook his head and glanced toward the leather chair behind the counter, a reading light strategically placed.

  “That’s an interesting idea.” But not a very practical one, she’d think. “Thank you again for your help.”

  When she reached the door and bent to pick up her umbrella, she looked back. He was already ensconced in his chair and engrossed in his book.

  She had to smile. If Lisa Macklin wanted help in her campaign to bring tourists to Pleasant Valley, she’d probably best not come to Cliff Wainwright.

  Katie passed two empty storefronts and then Paula Schatz’s bakery. Paula had already taken a stack of flyers, and one of them was displayed prominently in the front window. Katie would have stopped to say hello, but she could see through the window that Paula was clearly busy with her lunch crowd, even on a day like this.

  The hardware store was next. Katie hesitated a moment, but women did go into hardware stores, didn’t they? Maybe even women who liked to quilt.

  The cash register was located in the middle of the store, and Katie walked past plumbing supplies on one side and paint cans on the other. The paint color chart was huge, displaying so many different shades that it was dizzying. How did people make a choice when they had that many options?

  The young woman standing behind the counter had curly brown hair pulled back into a ponytail and fastened with a bright red clip that matched her shirt. She had a quick, friendly smile for Katie.

  “Hi. Can I help you with something?”

  “I hope so. I am Katie Miller, owner of the quilt shop down the street.”

  �
�You are?” The young woman, Melanie according to her name badge, thrust out her hand. “I’m glad to meet you. I was just looking in your shop window on Saturday. You have some beautiful things.”

  “You should come in. No need to buy, if you don’t want to. Just come in and look around.”

  “I’d like that.” The girl wrinkled her nose. “This job doesn’t give me much extra cash for things I don’t really need. I have to account for every penny.”

  Probably not a good customer, then, Katie thought, but she liked the way Melanie’s lively features changed quickly with her mood. Katie handed her a flyer. “I hoped you might be willing to give these out. They’re about a quilting group that will meet at my store.”

  Melanie’s expression clouded. “I don’t know.” She glanced uneasily toward the back of the store. “The boss doesn’t believe in putting up signs and things for other businesses. Doesn’t want to distract the customer, he says.”

  “I see. Well, thanks for your time.” Katie started to turn away, but Melanie reached across the counter and snagged her sleeve.

  “Wait a sec. How about if I stick one in the bag of anyone I think might be interested? That’s the best I can do.”

  “That would be wonderful, Melanie. Denke.”

  “It looks like a neat idea.” Melanie put her finger on the printed sheet. “Do you mean this, about beginners being welcome?”

  “Ja, sure. Are you interested in quilting?”

  “I like to sew. And crochet. My grandma taught me. I’ve always wanted to try quilting.”

  “Come and join us then,” Katie said quickly. “You could start with something small, just to see if you like it.”

  “I’m not sure . . .” Melanie let that trail off, stuffing a stack of the flyers under the counter. “I’ll think about it. Maybe I’ll see you there.”

  “I hope so. Thanks.” So far she only seemed to be recruiting Englisch members, but maybe that was natural. Most Amish women had too much to do this time of year with gardens to put in and spring cleaning to do. Quilting tended to be a wintertime activity for them.

  Still, that wasn’t a bad thing. If she turned a few Englisch women into quilters, or at least introduced an appreciation of quilting, they might turn into good customers.