by Marta Perry
The afternoon seemed to pass too quickly, making Katie aware of how much she enjoyed these get-togethers. The women’s soft voices, the whirr of the sewing machines, the flash of needles . . . this was her favorite part of the week.
If she and Eli had married, would she have carried on at the shop? Probably not. She’d have been busy having babies, running the home, spending her sewing hours on clothes for the children. Maybe, as they grew, there would have been time to be busy with the quilts again. That was the cycle of life for a woman.
For most women. She made the correction. Her life was not like most.
“Well, when you Amish get married, it’s for good.” Melanie’s words, spoken to Molly, were loud in a moment of silence. Melanie glanced around, flushing a little, probably because everyone had heard. “I mean, I guess you Amish don’t believe in divorce.”
“When two people make vows before God, it is forever,” Rachel said. “That doesn’t mean we don’t have problems, just like other folks. But we try to work them out.”
“Most people go into marriage thinking it is forever,” Lisa added. “Amish or English. I’m sure Mark and I had our share of disagreements, but we never considered ending things.” A shadow crossed her face, and Katie knew she was missing her husband.
“But if you find out you’ve married the wrong person, maybe it’s better to get out of it.” Melanie said the words almost to herself.
Katie and Lisa exchanged glances. How did one answer that? Melanie wasn’t even married yet. If she was having doubts already . . .
“People don’t have to be married to be happy.” Donna’s tone was assertive. “But it’s unusual to see an Amish woman Katie’s age who isn’t married.” She looked at Katie expectantly.
A flash of anger startled Katie. It wasn’t any of Donna’s business why she wasn’t married.
“I’m sure Katie has her reasons.” Lisa hurried into speech to cover the awkward moment. “I don’t think we should put her on the spot.”
Donna’s cheeks grew mottled. “No offense,” she muttered. “I just wondered.”
“It’s all right.” Katie took a firm hold on her temper. “I was engaged, but he married someone else.” She shrugged, trying to turn it off lightly. “It was better to know that before we took vows rather than after.”
“It certainly was.” Lisa’s tone was emphatic. “Now, about these pieces, how did you say they should fit together, Katie?”
Katie bent over the table, her gaze fixed on the quilt patches, glad to hide her face for a moment. Goodness knows she should be able to talk about Eli naturally after all this time.
Realization hit her, so sharp and clear it was like being hit by lightning. She’d told Caleb he was hiding his pain by avoiding other people, but wasn’t she hiding, too? Wasn’t she immersing herself in the shop, in the people who came into it, to hide her own pain?
She didn’t want to think that, but she had to face it. She’d told herself that coming here would be a new start for her, but the truth was that it was just a new way to cover the same old pain.
“Are you certain-sure you’ll be all right minding the shop this afternoon?” Caleb had a feeling he was the one who wasn’t all right, but he wasn’t going to let Becky see his apprehension.
“It will be fine, Onkel Caleb.” Becky’s face shone with excitement, as if he had given her a gift by letting her watch the shop while he went to a meeting that he didn’t want to attend anyway.
“That’s all right, then. If you are not sure of anything, just tell the person he’ll have to wait until I return, ja?”
“I will, for sure.” Becky gave him a gentle push. “Go now. Katie is waiting for you.”
Sure enough, Katie was standing at her shop door, obviously confident in Rhoda’s ability to watch the shop while she was out. Just as obviously, it would be rude to set off down the street to Mrs. Macklin’s shop without her, since they were going to the same place. It wasn’t Katie’s fault that he found himself tongue-tied around her these days.
“All ready?” He tried to manage a smile as he approached Katie, but it probably looked more like a grimace.
“We’ll be just in time for the meeting,” Katie said, opening the door.
He followed her out to the sidewalk. Mrs. Macklin had asked all of the Main Street merchants to attend a meeting about the sale days plans. His immediate response had been that meetings didn’t interest him. He was willing enough to put some items on sale, but that was all.
However, Bishop Mose had gotten involved, and if the bishop asked you to go somewhere, you went. Besides, Caleb’s instant refusal would only serve to prove that what Katie had said about him was true.
So he’d go. But that didn’t mean he’d do anything. Or say anything. He’d be there. Let that be enough.
He caught the movement of Katie’s head as she turned to look at him. “I’m sure the girls will be fine.” Her tone was reassuring. “If Becky has any problems, Rhoda will be right there.”
“Ja, I know. I’m not worried.”
Katie’s eyebrows lifted. “Then your black look must be because you feel obligated to walk with me. You don’t have to, you know. If it makes you uncomfortable—”
“Ach, Katie, stop putting words in my mouth. The fact is that I’m not much of a one for meetings.”
“I know,” she said quietly.
And there, he’d as much as told her that what she thought about him was true. “It’s not—not because I feel uncomfortable around people. This meeting, Mrs. Macklin’s plans—we haven’t done anything like this before.”
“Bishop Mose says we haven’t needed to before.”
“I know. And that’s why I am going.” Just going, that was all. Let other people volunteer to be on committees and such.
“I’m glad.” Her words sounded a little stiff.
And now that he took a close look, it seemed Katie wasn’t her usual confident self. Was she still worrying about that upset with Rhoda?
The only way to find out was to ask. “Is something else wrong then?”
“No.” The answer came so quickly that he knew it wasn’t true.
They had already reached Mrs. Macklin’s shop, and there was no time for him to say anything else, even if he could have thought of something.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Mrs. Macklin’s gift shop, like most of the shops along Main Street, had a back room, and that was where the meeting was being held. Caleb followed Katie down the rows of shelves filled with candles, wreaths, baskets, and such-like. Lots of stuff there, but he had to admit that Mrs. Macklin had it arranged in a way that made you want to stop and look, even if you weren’t in the market for any of the things the woman sold.
The back room was fairly large, as such rooms went, and Mrs. Macklin had arranged folding chairs in a circle so that there was no back row to hide in. A table at the door was laden with a heavy coffee urn and platters of baked goods that he recognized as having come from Paula Schatz’s bakery. Paula herself, round and rosy-faced, presided over the food, urging people to have just one more sticky bun or slab of apple walnut cake.
“That’s enough,” he began, but Paula plopped a cinnamon bun on his paper plate.
“Ach, you have room for a little more, for sure.” Paula, like most Amish and Mennonite women, it seemed, loved to see people enjoying their food.
“If I eat all this, I won’t be gut for anything but taking a nap,” he told her.
“Get on with you, Caleb Brand.” She waved a dish towel at him, pleased with that response for some reason. “Everyone knows you work as hard as any two men.”
If they did, it was news to him, but he accepted the plate and coffee. Katie had already taken a seat next to Alma Gluck, who helped her husband run the candy shop. Bishop Mose sat a few chairs away, so Caleb took the seat next to him. He spotted a few people who, so far as he knew, didn’t own shops in town, and that puzzled him.
“There are folks other than storeowners here,” h
e said quietly.
Bishop Mose nodded. “Some of the volunteer organizations want to be involved, too. Just watch,” he murmured. “All the Amish women will sit together, and all the Amish men.”
“That’s natural enough, isn’t it?” Caleb wasn’t sure what the bishop was driving at.
“Natural,” Bishop Mose said. “But I would not like our Englisch neighbors to think we are standoffish.”
Caleb didn’t bother to say it, but surely the Englisch merchants thought that already. And weren’t the Amish to live in but not of the world? Maybe the bishop was trying to find the line between doing so and offending their non-Amish neighbors. Caleb was sure he didn’t know where that line was.
Which was why he’d let himself be guided by the bishop in attending this meeting. It wasn’t a matter of not thinking for himself. It was a question of trusting someone as mature in the faith as Bishop Mose whenever one was in doubt.
Mrs. Macklin started the meeting once everyone was satisfied with plenty to eat and drink. He had to admit that the woman had a nice way about her. She was enthusiastic but not threatening or overly bossy, and she kept hold of the reins of the meeting, not letting it stray from its purpose . . . to plan what each of them would do for the Summer Sale Days.
When Mrs. Macklin used that expression, the first ruffle arose in the meeting from Mike Sullivan, who managed the only hardware store in town.
“If we’re going to do this, it seems to me that we could come up with a better name than Summer Sale Days,” Sullivan said, “especially if we want to pull people into town.”
Mrs. Macklin didn’t skip a beat. “What would you suggest, Mike?”
“Well, how about calling it Amish Days? Seems like that’s good publicity.”
Several people separated Caleb from Katie, but he had the impression she grew tense. Certainly the bishop had.
“That would be something to consider,” Mrs. Macklin said smoothly. “But I think our Amish colleagues would not like to have their faith used as advertising.”
Sullivan looked as if he didn’t like being disagreed with. “Why not? Lancaster County is filled with businesses that are called Amish this and Amish that. And they’ve sure got plenty of tourists coming there.”
“I think you will find that places that advertise that way are not Amish-owned,” Bishop Mose said. He didn’t raise his voice, but it seemed to dominate the room.
Sullivan scowled. “I’m not Amish, but I don’t mind using the word if it brings in business.”
“And that would be as offensive as calling it Catholic Sale Days or Episcopal Sale Days.” Cliff Wainwright, who owned the bookstore, shoved his wire-rimmed glasses in place and looked at Sullivan as if he were studying him. “I for one would not be comfortable trading on someone else’s faith to make a few dollars. What about Pennsylvania Dutch Days? That might work.”
There was a murmur of agreement from the other merchants, Amish and Englisch alike. Katie darted a quick smile at Caleb, as if wanting to share her pleasure in the quick resolution with someone. With him.
He met her gaze for a moment and then looked away. And found himself looking straight at Ruth Weaver, Mattie’s mother. The unexpectedness of it shocked him, and it took a moment to gain his balance. Ruth had quite a little business in hooked rugs, selling them out of her home, so maybe that was why she was here. But that didn’t explain why she was looking at him.
He didn’t see any of the Weaver family often, managing to sit in church where they weren’t in his line of sight and steering clear of coming too close. For their part, they usually did a fine job of looking right through him when they did happen to meet. But now ... well, maybe it was because Ephraim, her husband, wasn’t with Ruth, but she sat there, her gaze on him, almost as if she wanted to say something.
“Well, that sounds like a majority,” Lisa announced briskly, pulling Caleb’s attention back to her. “I’ve already volunteered to handle publicity, and if anyone would be willing to help me or has any ideas, do please get in touch with me.”
“Is anyone else going to be selling food?” Paula Schatz put the question. “I’ll have baked goods and coffee, of course, but it seems to me this is an opportunity for more than that. A hot dog stand, maybe, or some other sort of sandwiches.”
“And soup,” someone else put in. “Especially if it’s not a real hot day, homemade soup goes real good.”
That opened the flood gates. It seemed everyone was willing to talk about food, and soon folks from the Volunteer Fire Company to the Ladies Circle at the Methodist Church had offered to set up food stands.
Caleb leaned back in his chair. This wasn’t so bad. Folks were really getting involved, and that would be what it took to make something like this work. Whatever awkwardness had remained after the discussion of the name was swamped in a flurry of ideas.
He glanced at Katie. She’d been in on the plan from the beginning, thanks to her friendship with Lisa Macklin, and she looked pleased. More than that—glowing, lit up with enthusiasm. Sometimes he forgot how pretty she was when that light was in her face.
He sat back again, forcing himself to focus on the meeting. He had no right to be thinking about Katie that way.
But who was he trying to fool? Himself? If so, it wasn’t working. He had feelings for Katie Miller. He might not know what to do with them, but they were real, and growing stronger all the time.
“Well, I think that’s about it,” Mrs. Macklin said after the last detail had been ironed out. “There is just one other thing. A few merchants couldn’t be here today. Would someone be willing to call on them and try to get their support?”
Cliff Wainwright raised his hand. “I’ll be glad to touch base with people,” he said. “But I think the Amish would respond better to another Amish person.”
Silence fell for a moment. Bishop Mose nudged Caleb. He kept his gaze in the other direction. Whatever the bishop thought, he wasn’t the one to take on this job.
Unfortunately, looking away from the bishop meant he was looking straight at Katie. The appeal in her deep blue eyes was far more potent than the bishop’s nudge. She wanted him to do it. He could read that in her face.
He didn’t want to. But he raised his hand, because she was just too hard to resist.
Caleb was very quiet as they walked back toward their shops. Katie glanced at his face, searching for some reaction on his part to the meeting. His lips were set, his eyebrows drawn down slightly, giving nothing away.
Well, she was not one to be silent, was she?
“Denke, Caleb. It was ser kind of you to offer to help.”
He blinked, as if that were not at all what he’d been thinking. “It wasn’t exactly my idea.”
Now it was her turn to be surprised. “But . . . you offered. You must have wanted to, ain’t so?”
“I knew . . .” He paused. “Bishop Mose nudged me. I knew that was what he thought was best.”
She was conscious of a vague sense of disappointment. Surely she hadn’t been thinking he’d done it for her, had she?
“Ja, it is not easy to turn down the bishop. Of course you would do it for him. I just thought you looked unhappy about something.”
“Ruth Weaver was at the meeting. Mattie’s mother.” He chopped off the words.
She tried to read through the words to the feeling behind them, wanting him to say more. “You must see her from time to time, don’t you?”
He jerked a short nod. “Ja. But she always acts like I’m not there. I don’t blame her for that. But today . . . today she was looking at me almost as if she wanted to say something.”
“Maybe she does.” Katie prayed she wasn’t saying the wrong thing. “Maybe you should give her the chance.”
They’d reached her shop door. He grasped the knob to open it and then paused, hand on the knob, looking into her face. Then he shook his head and opened the door.
Before he could cross to his own shop, they were set upon by both of the girls, bubbling wi
th enthusiasm.
“Katie, at last you are here.” Rhoda’s eyes danced. “I can’t wait to tell you. I’m so excited.”
“Ja, tell her.” Becky looked almost as exuberant as Rhoda. “Tell her.”
“Tell both of us,” Caleb said, clasping his niece’s hand. “So far all Katie knows is that you are both babbling.”
Becky giggled. “It’s the best thing.”
“Well, what is it?” Katie took off her bonnet, amused by the girls’ reactions. “Don’t keep us in suspense.”
Rhoda took a deep breath. “I sold a quilt!”
“You did?” Her surprise was surely all that Rhoda could wish. She hadn’t expected that on such a quiet Friday afternoon. “Rhoda, that is wonderful gut. Which one? Who bought it?”
Rhoda clasped Katie’s hand and swung it, reminding Katie of her sister’s smaller self on the first day of school. “I don’t know who she was. Englisch. A stranger, I think. Not anyone I’d seen around town.”
“Someone driving around who saw your sign,” Caleb guessed.
“Ja, or maybe someone I talked to at the Mud Sale,” Katie said. “A couple of women said they’d stop by one day. So which quilt did she buy?” It was good news anytime a quilt sold, and especially nice that Rhoda had been the one to make the sale.
“It was the one . . .” Rhoda hesitated. “You know, the one that was in the box we brought up when the cellar flooded.”
The one Katie had made for her marriage. That was what Rhoda was trying not to say—the quilt that had represented her broken dreams was gone now.
Well, Naomi had advised her to sell it, and she’d been right. Now Katie would not look at it and remember.
“That’s fine, Rhoda.” She tried to sound as if that quilt meant nothing more than any other. “I’m ser glad you sold it.”
The faint worry in Rhoda’s face was wiped away. “Me, too. I never made such a big sale before. She was looking and looking, and I tried to find out what colors and patterns she was interested in, like you taught me, but it seemed like she just wanted me to let her alone, so I did. I figured she was just a looker, but then she brought the quilt to the counter and said she’d take it! I was so surprised. Becky will tell you.”
