Katie's Way

by Marta Perry

  “It’s a big responsibility, for sure. But I love having her here, and if I stay, I don’t know how I’d get along without her.”

  “That is the answer, then.” Daadi handed her the envelope in his hand. “And before I forget, I was asked to bring this to you.”

  No, not the lease, then, she realized. It was a folded piece of notepaper. She opened it and recognized the writing instantly. Jessica’s handwriting. A knot formed in her throat.

  Dear Katie,

  I am so ashamed. How could I send your letter back that way? Now I will never know what it said. I hope it said that you forgive me, and that you are willing to be friends again.

  I am so sorry to hear about your trouble. You are in our prayers.

  With love,

  Jessica

  Katie stared at the letter for a long moment. A tear dropped on the paper, blurring the writing, and she blotted it away carefully. Teardrops, like streams in the desert.

  Behold, I will do a new thing. The words came back, comforting, giving her strength, and she knew her decision was made. She would choose the new life, no matter what pain it might hold.

  She lifted her head and smiled at her father. “If it is my decision, then Rhoda and I will stay,” she said.

  “Gut.”

  He nodded, and she realized that was the answer he’d hoped to hear.

  Katie was late getting to the shop the next morning. Caleb had been listening for her, starting at every creak of the old building, glancing out the window so often that Becky stared at him.

  “Is something wrong, Onkel Caleb?”

  “No, nothing.” That wasn’t true. Everything was wrong, and he had to fix it and pray it wasn’t too late.

  “There’s Katie’s buggy,” Becky called. “Gut, Rhoda is with her. I was hoping and hoping that she would come today.” She skipped toward the back door.

  Caleb caught her arm. “Will you do me a favor, Becky, and not ask why?”

  Her eyes went round, but she nodded. “What?”

  “I want to talk to Katie alone. Will you go and keep Rhoda busy? Maybe offer to help her in unharnessing Daisy so that Katie comes in by herself.”

  Becky looked as if she would burst with needing to ask why, but she nodded and darted toward the back door like a pebble from a slingshot.

  Now, if only he knew what to say, once he finally had a chance to speak to Katie. He rubbed his palms on his pant legs. I was wrong. That was a good place to start.

  It might be too late. She could have already decided to give up the shop and go home, and maybe nothing he said could make a difference.

  He had to try. She deserved to hear the truth from him, at the least.

  He heard the quick, light step he’d been listening for and went at once to meet her. “Caleb.” She looked startled to see him. “You are at work early.”

  “Not so early as all that. I wanted to talk to you.”

  It seemed to him that a shield went up in her face at those words. “I must open the front door.” She took a step toward the front of the shop.

  He stopped her with his hand on her wrist. He could feel her pulse beating against his palm. Was it his imagination, or did it speed up suddenly when he looked at her?

  “Wait,” he said quietly. “Please wait, Katie.”

  She didn’t answer, but she didn’t move, either. She just looked at him, eyes questioning, guarded.

  “I wanted to say . . .” He seemed to stumble over the words. Was this how William felt when he tried to communicate? Just say it, he ordered himself. “I was wrong.”

  There. It was out. That had to be the hardest part.

  “Wrong?” The question seemed to deepen the blue of her eyes. “What were you wrong about?”

  He gave a wry smile. “Quite a few things, I think. Like thinking that your shop wasn’t a gut fit next to mine, for example.”

  “Ach, I knew you’d get over that quick enough.” She managed a slight curve of the lips for that. “Don’t give it a thought.”

  “And I was wrong about problems coming because of Pennsylvania Dutch Days, too. The problems were already here, ja?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “Sorry that you suffered because of Mike’s anger toward me. That was so unfair, so—”

  “Hush.” Caleb wanted to touch her lips to silence her blaming herself, but if he did, he suspected he’d never get the rest of this said, because he’d be kissing her. He contented himself with pressing her hand, holding it captive in both of his. “I want to tell you what I thought when I saw what he’d done that night.”

  Pain crossed her face. “You thought your work was ruined because of me, and you were right.”

  “No.” He couldn’t say it fast enough. “I didn’t think that at all. Even before I knew who had done it and why, I didn’t. I thought . . .” Holding her hand between his, he gave in to the impulse to lift it to his lips. “All I could see was that you had been hurt. That’s all. I barely looked at my place, because I was so busy looking at yours. And that’s when I knew I’d been wrong about the most important thing.”

  “What is that?” She whispered the words, the color coming up in her fine, smooth skin.

  “When I told you that I had no love left to give anyone else because of Mattie. Because if I didn’t, then how could I feel my heart break at the hurt to you?” He brushed her fingertips with his lips, seeming to feel that light touch through his body like a lightning strike. “I have known you only a month, Katie Miller, but I have never known anyone better than I know you. I love you. Don’t go away.”

  Tears sparkled in her eyes, and her lips trembled. “I had already decided that I would not run away. I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered.

  He couldn’t possibly resist. He put his arms around her, lowering his head to kiss her, holding her close, knowing in every fiber of his body that she was his and he was hers.

  When he finally drew back a little, he still held her in the circle of his arms. She looked up at him, and he realized tears were slipping down her cheeks. The sight was like a blow to the heart.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She smiled, not wiping the tears away. “I’m happy. God has given me a new life.”

  “God has given us a new life,” he corrected gently. “Together.”

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  EPILOGUE

  The Lancaster Rose quilt was stretched across the quilting frame, the colors of the flowers glowing against the white background. The quilters were gathered around the frame, their hands swooping like birds above the surface as they put in the final delicate stitching, their dear voices talking and sharing.

  Katie looked at them all, her heart seeming to swell with love. Emma and Naomi, the most experienced quilters, sat across from each other, so that no one less quick would be embarrassed by trying to keep up. Then came Rachel, Myra, Lisa, and Donna. Cousin Molly sat across from Katie. The two girls, Rhoda and Becky, were at the foot of the frame, obviously nervous at being included in quilting something so important.

  Katie’s wedding quilt. She looked at it with a rushing sense of joy. Hers and Caleb’s. It would adorn their bed in the house they’d bought across the street from their combined shops.

  That had taken some negotiating, the decision to combine the shops. Some folks might expect her to give up the quilt shop when she married, but not Caleb. He understood how important it was to her.

  She glanced at Rhoda, face intent as she minded her stitches. Rhoda didn’t know it yet, but one day she would be equal partners with Katie in the shop. If she and Caleb were blessed with children, Rhoda would be there to help them manage. To say nothing of Naomi and Becky and all the other family and friends she’d found here in Pleasant Valley.

  “Why so silent, Katie?” Naomi glanced at her prospective daughter-in-law with a twinkle in her eyes. “Dreaming of Caleb?”

  The others laughed gently when Katie blushed, and Caleb’s
voice sounded from the doorway behind her.

  “What is all this noise?” he asked with mock severity. “It sounds as if half the sisters of the church are here.”

  “We were saying that Katie is daydreaming of you, Onkel Caleb,” Becky piped up with newfound confidence.

  “She does not need to dream of me,” Caleb said, and his loving gaze met Katie’s. “I am here, and I will always be.”

  GLOSSARY OF PENNSYLVANIA DUTCH WORDS AND PHRASES

  ach. oh; used as an exclamation

  agasinish. stubborn; self-willed

  ain’t so. A phrase commonly used at the end of a sentence to invite agreement.

  alter. old man

  anymore. Used as a substitute for “nowadays.”

  Ausbund. Amish hymnal. Used in the worship services, it contains traditional hymns, words only, to be sung without accompaniment. Many of the hymns date from the sixteenth century.

  befuddled. mixed up

  blabbermaul. talkative one

  blaid. bashful

  boppli. baby

  bruder. brother

  bu. boy

  buwe. boys

  daadi. daddy

  Da Herr sei mit du. The Lord be with you.

  denke. thanks (or danki)

  Englischer. one who is not Plain

  ferhoodled. upset; distracted

  ferleicht. perhaps

  frau. wife

  fress. eat

  gross. big

  grossdaadi. grandfather

  grossdaadi haus. An addition to the farmhouse, built for the grandparents to live in once they’ve “retired” from actively running the farm.

  grossmutter. grandmother

  gut. good

  hatt. hard; difficult

  haus. house

  hinnersich. backward

  ich. I

  ja. yes

  kapp. Prayer covering, worn in obedience to the Biblical injunction that women should pray with their heads covered. Kapps are made of Swiss organdy and are white. (In some Amish communities, unmarried girls thirteen and older wear black kapps during worship service.)

  kinder. kids (or kinner)

  komm. come

  komm schnell. come quick

  Leit. the people; the Amish

  lippy. sassy

  maidal. old maid; spinster

  mamm. mother

  middaagesse. lunch

  mind. remember

  onkel. uncle

  Ordnung. The agreed-upon rules by which the Amish community lives. When new practices become an issue, they are discussed at length among the leadership. The decision for or against innovation is generally made on the basis of maintaining the home and family as separate from the world. For instance, a telephone might be necessary in a shop in order to conduct business but would be banned from the home because it would intrude on family time.

  Pennsylvania Dutch. The language is actually German in origin and is primarily a spoken language. Most Amish write in English, which results in many variations in spelling when the dialect is put into writing! The language probably originated in the south of Germany but is common also among the Swiss Mennonite and French Huguenot immigrants to Pennsylvania. The language was brought to America prior to the Revolution and is still in use today. High German is used for Scripture and church documents, while English is the language of commerce.

  rumspringa. Running-around time. The late teen years when Amish youth taste some aspects of the outside world before deciding to be baptized into the church.

  schnickelfritz. mischievous child

  ser gut. very good

  tastes like more. delicious

  Was ist letz? What’s the matter?

  Wie bist du heit. how are you; said in greeting

  wilkom. welcome

  Wo bist du? Where are you?

  RECIPES

  Apple Crumble Pie

  FOR CRUST:

  ⅓ cup shortening

  1 cup flour

  2 tablespoons water

  Cut the shortening into the flour to the fine crumb stage. Sprinkle with water, stirring the mixture with a fork until dough begins to form. Mold into a ball. With a floured rolling pin, roll out on a floured surface until thin, adding flour to the rolling pin as necessary and handling the dough as little as possible. Lift carefully into a 9-inch pie plate and trim edges.

  FOR FILLING:

  6 medium McIntosh apples or other favorite pie apples

  ½ cup sugar

  1 teaspoon cinnamon

  Peel, core, and slice apples. Mix the sugar and cinnamon together. Arrange one layer of apples in the pie shell and sprinkle half the cinnamon-sugar mixture over it. Repeat with the remaining apple slices and cinnamon-sugar mixture.

  FOR TOPPING:

  ¾ cup flour

  ½ cup sugar

  4 tablespoons butter

  Mix the flour and sugar together. Cut in the butter to the fine crumb stage, being careful not to overmix. Sprinkle the crumbs over the apples in the pie shell. Bake at 400 degrees for 40 to 45 minutes. Serve with whipped cream or ice cream.

  Corn Pudding

  2 eggs

  2 cups corn (about 6 ears grated)

  1 tablespoon butter, melted

  ¼ cup milk

  Salt and pepper

  Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Separate the eggs and set the whites aside. Whip the yolks lightly and stir into the corn. Add the melted butter, milk, and seasonings to the corn mixture. Beat the egg whites until stiff and fold into the corn mixture. Transfer carefully to a greased 1-quart casserole dish. Set the baking dish into a pan of hot water and bake for 30 minutes.

  Mummix (Hash)

  1 tablespoon butter

  1 tablespoon solid shortening

  1 pound ground beef

  1 cup boiled potatoes, cubed

  1 egg

  ½ cup onion, chopped

  2 tablespoons vinegar

  Salt and pepper to taste

  Melt the butter and shortening in a 10- or 12-inch skillet over medium-high heat. Add the rest of the ingredients and stir. While cooking, continue to stir and turn. Once the ground beef is no longer red, cover the pan, reduce heat to low, and simmer for 20 minutes. Serve hot.

  Dear Reader,

  I hope you’ve enjoyed another visit with the people of Pleasant Valley. Although the place doesn’t actually exist, it seems very real to me, as it is based on the Amish settlements here in my area of north-central Pennsylvania. Writing about Katie and her quilt shop gave me the opportunity to explore the area of women’s crafts, and I am constantly moved by the way generations of women have expressed their spirit through the work of their hands.

  Katie is inspired by the verse Isaiah 43:19, which never fails to inspire me as well: “Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth; shall ye not know it? I will even make a way in the wilderness, and rivers in the desert.” I hope it may be a good word for you.

  I would love to hear your thoughts on my book. If you’d care to write to me, I’d be happy to reply with a signed bookmark or bookplate and my brochure of Pennsylvania Dutch recipes. You can find me on the Web at www.martaperry.com, e-mail me at marta@martaperry .com, or write to me in care of Berkley Publicity Department, Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014.

  Blessings,

  Marta Perry

  An Excerpt from

  HANNAH’S JOY

  Pleasant Valley

  BOOK SIX

  by Marta Perry

  Coming in May 2012 from Berkley Books

  A man in Army fatigues stepped off a bus just down the street at the Pleasant Valley bus stop. Hannah Conroy clutched the stroller handle at an onslaught of dizziness, fighting the irrational surge of joy that turned in an instant to ashes.

  It wasn’t Travis. It was an unknown young soldier, moving into the welcoming arms of his family—mother holding him, fighting back tears; father standing stiffly as if to deny his emotions; a girl of about ten waving a W
ELCOME sign.

  Not Travis. Travis had lain beneath a marker in Arlington National Cemetery for well over a year. He wasn’t here on a warm September day in Pleasant Valley.

  Two women in Plain dress stopped next to Hannah on the sidewalk, their faces blurred by the tears she wouldn’t let fall. One reached out a tentative hand.

  “Are you all right? You are Hannah, ain’t so? Paula Schatz’s niece?”

  She nodded. She couldn’t cry. Jamie would be frightened if he saw his mother in tears. But he was almost asleep in the stroller, one chubby hand still grasping his toy dog.

  “I’m fine.” Hannah almost managed a smile. “Thank you.”

  “You’re going into the bakery, ja? Let us help you get the stroller inside.”

  The woman motioned to the other—a girl in her early teens, Hannah saw now—who pulled the door open, setting the bell jangling. Together they maneuvered the stroller inside Aunt Paula’s bakery.

  “Thank you,” she said again. The grief and pain ebbed, leaving her as lost as a leaf in the wind.

  “It’s nothing.” The woman patted her arm with a featherlight touch, the girl nodded, and they were gone.

  Aunt Paula, as round and comforting as one of her own dumplings, glanced up from the customer she was serving, her eyes clouding when she saw Hannah’s face. By the time Hannah reached the kitchen door, Aunt Paula was there, wiping her hands on the white apron she wore over her traditional Old Order Mennonite dress, its tiny print faded from many washings.

  “Hannah? Was ist letz?” Aunt Paula spoke English most of the time, but in moments of stress she was apt to slip into Pennsylvania Dutch. “What’s wrong? I saw Leah Glick and her daughter helping you.”