If her aunt was willing to talk with the artist and his bishop, she might feel differently. Then Beth could at least sell the man’s work to Englischer stores. But Lizzy seemed more interested in pleasing Bishop Omar than in making a difference in an artist’s life.
Beth sighed, wishing they could see the carvings like she did, as no more of an idol than an Amish-sewn wall hanging. Maybe then the strange dreams where the children and the man from the carving beckoned her to enter their snowy Amish world would disappear.
Standing on the porch of the store, Lizzy slid her key into the lock and turned it. Inside, she noticed the door to the steps that led to Beth’s bedroom stood open. Lizzy moved to the foot of the stairwell. “Beth?”
She heard no movement upstairs. Turning slowly in a circle, she expected her niece’s head to pop up from between the aisles. Usually by this time each morning, the two of them had shared a breakfast, talked business, and begun preparing to open the place at nine. “Beth?”
Her heart ran wild, and panic over her niece sliced through her. The young woman hadn’t been herself in so long. She handled herself well, but Lizzy knew something ate at her. Suddenly Lizzy admitted to herself that images of Beth taking her own life slipped into her mind at times.
“Beth!”
When she didn’t respond, Lizzy rushed to the office and pushed against the slightly open door. Her niece was slouched over the desk, her fingers resting on that carving she’d bought.
Her legs shaking, Lizzy touched her niece’s face. “Honey?”
Beth moaned and drew a sleepy breath. Unable to remain standing, Lizzy eased into a chair next to the desk.
Blinking, Beth frowned and lifted her head. “Good morning.” Her voice sounded hoarse and groggy.
“Did you sleep here all night?”
Beth took a deep breath and rubbed her eyes. “No.” Stretching her neck, she yawned. “I didn’t sleep much anywhere. What time is it?”
“A little after eight.”
Beth looked straight at her and narrowed her eyes. “Is something wrong?”
Unable to share her fears, Lizzy shook her head. Beth came around to the front of the desk. She didn’t look depressed, so why did Lizzy’s imagination get the best of her? As soon as the question ran through her mind, she knew the answer. Her niece had changed, and Lizzy feared she might be getting worse rather than better.
Beth brushed her fingertips across Lizzy’s forehead. “Then why is there fear in your eyes?”
“I … I couldn’t find you.”
Beth sat on the edge of the desk. “So you thought mountain lions came out of the hills, into the shop, and ate me?”
“My imagination got away with me, and I …” Lizzy swallowed hard, willing herself to say what was on her heart. “You worry me. It’s like you’re not the same person anymore.”
Beth patted her hand. “I know.”
Does she really know how much she’s changed? And how completely scared and out of control Lizzy felt concerning her?
“Why are you sleeping in the office?”
Her niece’s delicate hands caressed the carving. “It calls to me. Dreams that make little sense fade in and out as if they’re trying to tell me something.” She raised one eyebrow and mockingly pointed a finger at Lizzy. “And you know how I feel about people talking to me when I’m trying to sleep.”
In spite of her humor about it, her niece’s blue eyes held absolute rawness, as if Henry had died yesterday rather than sixteen months ago. And Beth had asked only one thing of Lizzy since Henry had died. Just one.
“I’ve decided to go see this artist of yours.”
Beth’s eyes grew large, and a beautiful smile seemed to remove some of her paleness. “Really?”
“Ya.”
A spark of delight stole through the usual sadness in Beth’s eyes, and Lizzy’s heart expanded with hope. Maybe her niece would find her way back to herself yet.
“I’ll call Gloria and set up a trip,” Lizzy said. “I’m not making any promises, though. I’m checking it out. That’s it.”
“Then you’ll meet the carver. And I bet you’ll be glad you did.”
“Maybe.”
Or maybe Beth was hunting for fulfillment outside the Old Ways and Lizzy was helping her.
As Gloria drove down the back roads to Jonah Kinsinger’s place, Lizzy prayed. Her niece had no idea how awkward this upcoming cold call might be. She didn’t want to build up the artist’s hopes, yet she needed to talk to him about Beth’s possibly selling his work to Englischer tourist shops.
Beth was so much better with this kind of stuff, but if she were here, she might pursue the work without regard to the bishop’s opinion.
Gloria slowed the vehicle and turned into a gravel driveway. “According to our directions and the mailboxes, this should be it.”
From the looks of it, two homes, maybe three, used this triple-wide driveway and turnaround. According to the mailboxes, two of the places belonged to men named Jonah Kinsinger.
“Which one?” Gloria asked.
“Let’s stop at this first one. It looks like the original homestead, and the Jonah Kinsinger we’re looking for is an older man, according to Beth.”
Gloria put the van in Park. Lizzy opened the door, viewing the house. “I shouldn’t be more than twenty minutes if this is the right house.”
Gloria held up a paperback. “I’ll pull under a shade tree and enjoy my time.”
Lizzy went up the porch steps, knocked, and waited. Through the screen she could see a woman, about seventy years old, hurrying to the door. Beyond her, two young girls tried to catch sunshine in their aprons. She remembered playing that game as a little girl. It had never held much interest for Beth. If it couldn’t be scrubbed or organized, her niece never cared about it, even as a toddler.
The woman smiled as she opened the door. “Can I help you?”
“Hi, I’m Elizabeth Hertzler. I own an Amish dry goods store in Pennsylvania, and I’m looking for Jonah Kinsinger, the carver.”
“He and his brother are working at the lumberyard.” She glanced at the clock. “But they should be in for lunch within the hour if you care to wait.”
“He lives here, then?”
“No, but he’ll eat lunch here today.”
“I came to talk about his carvings and hopefully see more of his work.”
“You’re welcome to go into his shop and look around.” She stepped onto the porch and pointed several hundred feet away. “The door is at the far end.”
“Thank you.”
Lizzy went to the van and spoke through the open window. “He’s supposed to be back within the hour. If I leave, I could miss him.”
“Then wait,” Gloria said.
“Do you want to come with me?”
“I’d rather read, if you don’t mind.”
“Okay.”
With sweat running down her back, Lizzy walked to the shop. September had arrived, but summer’s heat remained strong. She knocked on the solid door and then tried the knob. The door opened, and she walked in. The room glowed with a golden hue. Unfinished, honey-colored paneling covered the four walls, and sunlight poured in through several windows. A blue tarp hung in a doorway, blocking her view into the next room. What appeared to be a handmade box sat on the table.
Thinking she heard children whispering, Lizzy moved to the window and raised the shade. She expected to see the girls who had been inside the main house, but she saw no one. The voices grew clearer, as if they’d come into the shop with her.
She walked to the hanging blue tarp and pulled it to the side. The adjoining room looked like an old outbuilding—dirt floors, stalls where calves might have once been kept, and shelves filled with pieces of wood, paint cans, and cardboard boxes.
“Hello?”
Silence filled the room. Moving deeper into the building, she thought she heard a child giggle.
“Hello?”
Not minding a quick game of hide-and-seek,
she continued walking until she stood at the back of the long, narrow building. There were no windows, but a few rays of sunlight streamed through the cracks in the wooden walls. Through the hazy gray air, she noticed an old, damaged sleigh.
“Is someone in here?”
Seeing no one, she worked her way around the sleigh, moving slowly so she didn’t stumble. On the far side of the sleigh, she knelt, looking under it for signs of the children.
A cane and two black boots came into sight. The footwear shifted.
Embarrassed and addled, she stood.
A silhouette of a man passed her an unlit candle. He struck a match, revealing that, in spite of the cane, he was in his twenties. After lighting the wick he shook the match and tossed it into the dirt. “Can I help you with something?” His voice sounded warm, but he looked uncertain of her.
“I … I’m Elizabeth Hertzler.” She brushed dirt off her apron. “I … I thought I heard children in here playing. I shouldn’t have searched for them this far back into your shop, but it’s just … I got caught up in following the sounds of their whispers …” She wiped her hands down the sides of her dress. “From the look on your face, I may never redeem myself.”
He gestured for her to follow him. “You’ll feel better once I show you something.”
They wound through a darker section of the building, making her glad he’d brought a candle. A moment later he popped open a rickety door. The wind blew the candle out, and the sounds she’d heard earlier echoed through the bright sunshine.
She blinked, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the light. The young man placed his hand under her forearm. “Watch your step.”
Glancing around as her eyes focused, she expected the fierce white view to retreat and reveal children. Instead, she saw a terrace of some sort. From the eaves of a gazebo hung at least two dozen hand-carved wind chimes.
She stepped closer, awed at the find. “They sound like children whispering and laughing. How is that possible?”
“They’re designed to make inviting tones. I’ve found that what a person hears tends to vary.” His brown eyes held no pity concerning her intelligence and no judgment against her behavior. Whoever he was, she was glad he’d been the one to discover her on her knees beside a broken sleigh and not someone more critical.
“Does this Jonah Kinsinger make these too?”
“I do.”
Startled, she tried not to look too surprised. “You do?”
He nodded.
“And the large carving from Pete’s—you did that too?”
“Yes. Pete said that you liked it and that he gave you my address.”
Her conscience pricked when he mistook her for Beth, but something told her not to correct him. The business cards and catalogs they passed out had the store’s name and phone number and the name Elizabeth Hertzler. It wasn’t the Amish way to promote an individual, so if people knew how to reach “Elizabeth” at the store, that was all they needed to know.
“But I don’t understand. I thought you would be old.”
“Probably because Pete’s called me Old Man since I was five, when he began teaching me how to whittle.”
Her nerves were still on edge, and she tried to gather herself. “Your bishop allows you to sell your carvings, including the wind chimes?”
He motioned to a set of chairs under the shade of the gazebo. “You look a bit pale. Would you like to sit for a spell?”
“Very much. Denki.”
“Can I get you a glass of water? My place is just beyond those trees.”
“No. I’m fine.” As she said the word fine to describe herself, visions of her beautiful, lonely niece entered her mind. She took a seat. “So your bishop doesn’t feel that you’re creating graven images?”
“Well, he might have had a few reservations. You’d need to talk to him about that. Over the years I’ve wondered if his decision was based on favoritism.”
As the eeriness from earlier began to fade, she saw a depth in his eyes that drew her like his work had drawn her niece. “Favoritism?”
When I was injured at fifteen, I couldn’t get around well enough to do an apprenticeship, so he allowed me to do something I’d had the ability for since I was young.” Jonah shrugged, and a mischievous smile seemed to come out of hiding. “The bishop’s my Daed.”
“Oh.” She studied the intricate details of the wind chimes. “I’m afraid that’s not much help to me. I’ve thought about carrying your work in my store, but your father allowing you isn’t likely to convince my bishop.”
“I’m not really interested in creating pieces on demand to sell, anyway.”
“Not interested? Your work is gorgeous, and it touched the very soul of …” A thought swept through her, scattering pieces of a plan across her like sawdust caught in the wind.
Beth.
Jonah’s work stirred her. Called to her. Wakened her. But whatever else it did, it refused to be ignored. Beth could ignore her own needs, her own heart, and forge ahead with life, but she hadn’t tuned out the artistry of Jonah Kinsinger.
As she looked at this young man, knowing Beth felt a connection, the plan unrolled inside her.
She stared into his eyes, hoping what she was about to do was the right thing. “Giving it up for a girl, are you?”
Jonah laughed. “I never said I was giving it up.” Using his thumb, he pushed his straw hat back a little. The gesture revealed two missing fingers, probably more damage sustained in the accident. “It’s not about money.”
“I’m sure it’s not.” Lizzy moved to the edge of the gazebo. The place was an odd mixture—a rather dilapidated building attached to a much newer shop. A beautiful garden area with an expensive gazebo behind the old place. To her left, a recently built cabin almost hidden behind a grove of ancient trees.
And a handsome young man with a skill that calls to my niece.
“Your carving seems to carry life in it.”
Somber as a church meeting, he gazed at her. “The piece you wish to sell in your store was a royal pain from the get-go. The tree lay at the bottom of a gorge, and I tried to ignore it for months. But by last winter I couldn’t disregard it any longer, so I wrestled it out with my brother’s help and took it to my shop.” He leaned back against the railing. “And the truth is, I was glad to be done with it. Just as soon not have that experience again. So if you’re looking for a carver, I’m probably not your man.”
“Is that why there’s a layer of dust on your tools and the wood on your workbench?”
“The only thing I made out of that tree was the carving you bought. I cut other pieces with the intention of carving scenes in each, but … it’s just not in me. Still, I guess I’d be pleased to sell or put on consignment whatever is in my shop that I’ve made from other trees.”
“This isn’t what I expected when I came here. You’re supposed to be excited and trying to convince me to get permission to carry these items.”
He smiled and cradled one chime in the palm of his hand. “When I was injured, if my Daed hadn’t given me freedom to carve, I’m not sure I could have stood it. I was stuck in a wheelchair for nearly a year. Lost all sense of who I’d thought I was. Surgeries and physical therapy were constant and painful. And as selfish as it sounds now, being without two fingers felt totally humiliating, like God had singled me out to mock. My Daed gave me a way to transfer my emotions into a lump of wood.” He released the chime, making lovely tones float through the air.
Wishing Beth could hear this man’s understanding of life after loss, Lizzy’s plan became clearer to her. “I’ve never married, so I don’t have children, but I do have someone I love as if she were my own. And right now she’s in that bad place you spoke of. But it’s been nearly a year and a half since her loss, and I don’t know why it continues to be so heavy.”
“Maybe for you it wouldn’t be, but for her it is.”
A dinner bell clanged loudly.
He motioned to the steps of the gazebo. “Come
eat with us, Elizabeth. It’s our family’s once-a-month workweek gathering. You can meet all sorts of Kinsingers and three other Jonahs. Afterward, I’ll load you up with the carvings I do have.”
When he spoke her full name instead of her nickname, Lizzy knew the door to her hope stood wide open. As they walked around the side of the building, she saw Gloria waiting for her. “I can’t stay.” She stared into the crystal blue sky. Part of her felt as if she was about to follow God’s leading, and part of her felt like a manipulative woman.
Hoping her plan didn’t push Beth further from her, she dared to give her idea a try. “Jonah, meeting you today has been the best treat I’ve had in a long time. I’m hoping you’d be willing to keep in touch with me by mail.”
The way he looked at her, she knew he thought she was a bit off-center. Still, he nodded. “I suppose that’d be fine.”
“Good.” She stopped at the foot of the steps that led to what had to be his grandmother’s place. “Did Pete give you my card, or do I need to get one for you?”
“He passed it to me.”
“Even though it says Elizabeth Hertzler, you should write to Beth. I mean …” She tried to word it so she wasn’t actually lying. “Beth, Lizzy, Elizabeth—they’re all forms of my name.”
He raised both eyebrows, looking more skeptical. “Beth.” He lightly spoke the name without relaying either question or statement in his tone. “Pete did say you went by Beth.”
Her throat seemed to close, but she pressed on anyway, hoping Pete hadn’t said anything about Beth’s age. “And you shouldn’t feel obligated to write that it was good to meet me. I mean, we can say that right now and skip the fluff in the letters. Don’t you think?”
Lines deepened as he looked at her much like he had when he’d found her by the broken sleigh.
Christmas in Apple Ridge Page 4
