by Amy Clipston
“Sure thing.”
As they walked back outside, Micah tugged on her sleeve. “You know the likelihood of that happening is practically zero. If you don’t want to keep Chloe, I understand. I just thought . . .”
She didn’t fill in the pause for him.
“Well, I thought she might be gut company for you.”
Instead of responding to that, she walked around to her side of the buggy and said, “Best go on to the vet’s and see if she can tell us anything.”
Doc Staci gave Chloe a thorough examination.
After Micah explained how he’d found the dog wandering in the snow with an injury, Staci ran her hand down Chloe’s leg, took off the bandage, and declared that they’d done as good a job as she could have. She applied antibiotic cream and wrapped a new bandage around the leg, with instructions to change the wrap once a day for three days, then leave it open to the air.
Once the leg was taken care of, she ran a handheld device over the dog’s neck. Staring at the screen, she said, “I thought she looked familiar. This is Josh Cramer’s dog, Sister.”
“Can’t say I’ve heard that name.” Micah glanced at Rachel, who shook her head.
“Josh was in his eighties—lived on the northwest side of town. He passed about six weeks ago. The good news is that she’s up-to-date on her shots, but the bad news . . .”
“No one’s going to claim her,” he finished.
“I’m afraid not. His family doesn’t live around here.”
As she walked them out to the waiting room, she turned to her receptionist and said, “No charge.”
“But . . .” Rachel looked flustered at the idea of accepting this act of kindness.
“I insist. You did a very good thing—both of you did. Some people will stop if they see a puppy, but few will for an old gal.”
Rachel looked at the dog and blew out a breath. “Looks like we’re stuck with each other, Chloe.”
Micah wasn’t sure if she meant they were stuck together temporarily or permanently, but he noticed she used the dog’s new name. Maybe it was her way of giving it her blessing.
“Why are you smiling at me like that?”
“You used the name we came up with together.”
“Oh. Well, I don’t suppose we can ask her which she’d rather we use.”
“Actually, you could.” Doc Staci knelt in front of the dog. “Which is it going to be? Sister?”
No response, other than the dog continuing to stare at her.
“Chloe?”
Now the dog’s ears perked up, and she leaned forward to sniff her hand.
“I’d say she’s taken to the new name. Dogs will do that sometimes.”
“How old is she?” Micah asked.
“Seven, according to my records. That’s a senior dog when you’re talking about a Labrador. She’s fairly healthy, but you’ll probably notice her limping slightly, even with her leg fully healed, and walking a bit stiff. She may occasionally have trouble standing up.”
Rachel’s hand went to the top of the dog’s head. “She has arthritis?”
“Most older dogs do. You might provide padded bedding.”
“Old blankets?”
“That will work if you fold them up about four inches thick. And the effects of arthritis will be less noticeable once the weather warms. As you can see, she also could stand to put on a few pounds. Call me if you need anything.”
As they walked back outside, Micah wasn’t sure what to say. He helped Chloe and Rachel back into the buggy, but he didn’t immediately call out to Samson.
Had he overstepped by bringing the dog to Rachel?
Did she feel backed into a corner?
And would she hold it against him?
He was surprised when she set her purse on the floor of the buggy and said, “I suppose I’ll take that pretzel now. And a cup of hot tea.”
The sun was shining warmly through the buggy windows, and Chloe curled up on the blanket again. She didn’t seem to mind one bit when they parked outside the Davis Mercantile and left her sleeping in the sunshine.
“She’s out of the wind, and your little heater has warmed up the buggy tolerably well.” Rachel pulled her purse strap over her shoulder. She looked as if she wanted to say something else, but if she did, she held it back.
Not until they’d ordered—cinnamon pretzels for both of them, coffee for Micah and Rachel’s hot tea—did she share what was on her mind.
“I’ve decided to keep Chloe.”
“I’m real happy to hear that. What changed your mind?”
“Doc Staci—when she said most people wouldn’t stop for an old dog. That’s just sad, Micah. Chloe was a gut dog to someone—”
“Cramer.”
“Though apparently his family, for whatever reason, didn’t see fit to take her with them.”
“Or perhaps she ran off, and then they didn’t know how to find her.”
Rachel sipped her tea, then popped a piece of the cinnamon pretzel into her mouth. “You have a habit of assuming the best about people.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Regardless, old things are valuable.” A frown formed between Rachel’s eyes. “We don’t throw away people or animals or things simply because they’ve aged.”
“True.”
“Besides, Chloe and I have a lot in common.”
“Such as?”
“We’re both old.”
“Fifty-six is not so old, Rachel.”
“We both have arthritis.”
“I suppose most people do at our age.”
“And we’re both alone. At least I am.” Micah started to protest, but Rachel stopped him with a firm shake of her head. “Don’t try telling me I’m not alone. I know my life is . . . well, my circle has become a bit small. I suppose it always was, being an only child and all.”
“Must have been hard.”
“I don’t know how it happened.” She met his gaze for the first time since they’d sat down, and Micah saw such misery in her eyes that he almost reached for her hand. As if suspecting he might, she jerked both hands off the table and fiddled with her purse. “I suppose I thought I had all the time in the world, and then I didn’t.”
“All the time to do what?”
“Make plans. Start my own life. Prepare for the future.”
“Why did you never marry?”
“I liked my alone time.”
“Unusual for an Amish woman.”
“I know it is, but remember, I had no siblings. Can you imagine what that was like?” She didn’t pause long enough for him to answer, simply pushed on with her confession. “But I liked the hours alone. They gave me time to design and sew quilts, the one thing I could do well.”
“You’re a gifted quilter.”
“One day I looked up, and everyone else was married.” She laughed, though he heard little joy in the sound. “Then came the second wave.”
“Second wave?”
“Widowers and the occasional awkward man who had never found a fraa. It was all . . . well, it was uncomfortable the way people looked at me. So much so that it was almost a relief when I turned forty and everyone seemed to accept that I was never going to wed.”
“Do you wish you had?”
“What difference does it make?” She took another bite of the pretzel, chewing thoughtfully. “Then my whole life became my parents as they aged. Taking care of them kept me quite busy. They were older when I was born, so by the time I was forty, they were in their seventies.”
“And then the buggy accident.”
“Ya.”
“Their life was complete.”
“I believe so, but mine?”
“Your life is what it should be. Gotte has a plan for your life, Rachel. Same as He does for every life. He hasn’t forgotten you.”
“Well, be that as it may, you were right. Having Chloe around will be gut for me. It’s time I stop focusing on myself and start thinking about someone else. The prob
lem is I’m not quite sure how to do that. Perhaps Chloe will be a gut first step.”
They were nearly back to her place when Rachel brought up the mysterious woman from the tour that morning.
“Do you know her name, Micah?”
“Nein. I wondered about her, too, and I asked Emily to check her reservation. She paid in cash, and the name was Farver. No first name, no address.”
“How could a stranger know about my mamm’s quilt?”
“Might have been a coincidence. Maybe someone she knows made the same mistake. Or maybe she knows someone who took the tour and heard your story.”
“Maybe. Did you notice how she sat off by herself a little?”
“I did.”
“And the look she gave me. It was as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t bring herself to utter the words.”
Micah rubbed at a spot on his forehead.
“I’m giving you a headache.”
“Not at all. I just remembered . . . She asked about you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“When she was waiting for the tour to begin, she asked Paul Yoder about you.”
“Paul told you this?”
“Nein. I heard her. I didn’t put it together until now.”
“Can you remember what she said—specifically what she said?”
“She said, ‘Is this the tour that goes to Rachel King’s, the woman who quilts?’”
“Most Amish women quilt.”
Micah rubbed at his jaw, which suddenly felt like he’d developed a cramp there. “I suppose that’s true, and your name is at the top of the brochure.”
“Still seems a bit odd.”
“Indeed.”
“As if I have my own Englisch stalker.”
“As stalkers go, she didn’t look very dangerous.”
“Nothing I can do about it now, I suppose.”
To Micah, the woman had seemed like she was searching for something, but then that was often the case with Englischers who came on their tours. How many had he heard confess that they were burned-out, exhausted, at their wits’ end? Too many. “Did she purchase a quilt?”
“Nein.” Rachel drew out the word. “But she glanced around the bedroom as if she couldn’t imagine how she found herself in an Amish home. And then she left.”
“It’s a mystery for sure and certain.” Which was all he could think to add on the subject.
As he drove Rachel the rest of the way home, his thoughts were less on the mystery woman than on Rachel’s confession over their afternoon snack. What would it be like to wake one morning and realize you were on a path you hadn’t meant to take? And how did you correct it at their age?
Many things about his life had been hard. He and Inez had suffered through one stillbirth and one miscarriage. Through it all, though, he’d never doubted that their life together was what it was supposed to be. And his family was everything to him. Without them, what would be the point? Was that how Rachel felt? Was she wondering what the point of her very existence was with no family now?
He dropped Rachel and Chloe off, then turned Samson toward home. But he didn’t notice much about the countryside. Instead, he prayed that Gotte would help Rachel find her way—and that somehow he could be part of that journey.
5
Nearly two weeks later, Rachel’s wash day was interrupted by the clatter of buggy wheels. She had happily hung her clothes, towels, and bedding outdoors, even though it was quite cold. The temperatures had fallen into the teens the night before—if she could believe the thermometer on her back porch. Yet sunshine had soon melted the light frost, and she actually felt a bit too warm in her coat.
She’d just picked up the clothes basket when she heard the buggy and spied Micah driving up her lane.
Chloe whined softly, looking to her for permission.
“Ya. Go on now. I know you miss him.”
Rachel admitted to herself that she also missed Micah the two days with no tour group. Mondays were solitary affairs, but at least she was busy giving her house a good cleaning and taking care of her laundry and baking. On the Sundays they had church, she saw Micah there, but seeing him gathered with the other men just wasn’t the same. On their off weeks, when they met as families instead of worshiping in a group, someone always took pity on her and invited her over. On those Sundays, she tried to arrive early to help set up the food and tables, but she inevitably left early because she felt so out of place. Even when the invitation came from Micah’s family.
It seemed now that she’d spent her entire life feeling out of place, as if she didn’t belong. She was growing tired of wallowing in that feeling. Perhaps if she didn’t fit here, it was time to find where she did. But how?
Micah waved as she waited for him. He was carrying a rather large box under his left arm. His right hand sat on top of Chloe’s head, and she looked up at him as if he’d caused the sun to rise over the fields.
“Come on in. I baked fresh oatmeal bars this morning.”
“I see no reason to turn that down.”
When Micah smiled at her like he was now, Rachel’s worries seemed to evaporate like the frost in the fields. She wondered how he could have that effect on her. Had their friendship grown that close over the last year? Were her feelings for Micah growing into something more?
Chloe followed them into the house and assumed her position by the kitchen stove.
“She seems to have adjusted well.”
“Would you believe she’s never attempted to lie on the couch or walk through the other rooms? It’s as if she knows she’s allowed only in the mudroom, and if she stays by the stove, in the kitchen.”
“And she’s put on a few pounds.”
“I think so. The padded bedding has helped too. Some mornings she’s as stiff as I am, but we manage.” Gratitude swelled in her heart for the dog. She hadn’t realized how far she’d sunk into despair until she’d climbed partially out of it—and Micah and Chloe were two of the reasons she had.
Though she was well aware she still had a ways to go.
Just the thought of Christmas was enough to send Rachel ducking under the covers. Another holiday alone. Another family gathering with no family to gather around. She was trying not to dwell on it, though the big day was now less than two weeks off.
She made them hot tea and set the plate of oatmeal bars on the table. Apparently Micah wasn’t going to bring up the box he’d set on the chair between them, so she’d have to ask.
“Is it for me?”
“It is.” He smiled at her and wiggled his eyebrows.
It was such a ridiculous sight, more like something he would do for the bopplin. She couldn’t help laughing.
“It was mailed to our tour company, care of Emily. That was so unusual I thought I’d bring it on out. Could be something you’ve been waiting on.”
“But I haven’t ordered anything.”
Instead of answering, he nudged the chair toward her with his foot.
“But it’s for me?”
“Ya. Your name is on the label.”
She went to her small desk in the sitting room and retrieved her reading glasses, then peered at the return label.
“I don’t know anyone in Berne, Indiana.”
“Apparently someone knows you. Open it.” Micah reached into his pocket and withdrew a pocketknife. After pulling the blade open, he turned the knife around and handed it to her.
“Danki.”
“Gem gschehne.”
She slit the flap open and removed an envelope, which she sat on the table, then folded back the tissue paper.
Why would someone send her a quilt?
And not just any quilt but a very old one.
She ran her fingertips over the hand-sewn squares, admiring the stitching and double wedding ring pattern. Pulling the quilt out, she partially unfolded it, enough to reveal the bottom corner. And now her heart was racing as if she’d chased a rabbit just as Chloe had earlier that morning.
“Oh my . . .”
Micah was at her side in a second. “Are you okay? All the color has left your face.”
He squatted beside her, and she clutched his hand.
“Take a deep breath. Don’t pass out on me, Rachel.”
“Nein.” She closed her eyes, then opened them, staring at the quilt and then at Micah’s concerned expression. “I just can’t believe my eyes. Help me unfold it.”
She stood and motioned for him to pick up one end of the quilt. It couldn’t be what she thought it was. But when Micah took his end and stepped back, she saw the entire thing—the double ring pattern set against the ivory background, with colors just as her mamm had described it. And in the corner, the single block turned the wrong direction.
“Is this the quilt you . . .”
She knew Micah was trying to catch up with what she’d already realized.
“It is. I don’t know how, but it is.”
“Perhaps you should open the envelope.”
They carefully refolded the quilt, this time with the upside-down block facing toward the outside. Micah placed it gently across the back of a chair as Rachel picked up the envelope. He moved to sit down across from her, but she shook her head and pulled out the chair on her right side.
“Read it with me.”
“But it might be personal.”
“Please.”
For reasons she couldn’t describe, she didn’t want to face this alone. She’d faced her whole life alone. But now, at what could be an important juncture in the road of her life, she wanted Micah beside her.
Her hands shaking, she slit the envelope with Micah’s pocketknife and pulled out a letter.
Dear Rachel,
I’m your cousin, Savannah Glick Farver, and I have been looking for you and your parents the last year. That’s how I ended up in your home on the tour a couple of weeks ago.
My mother, Deborah Lehman—you would know her as Deborah Glick or even by her maiden name, Byler—passed eighteen months ago. Lehman was my stepfather’s name, the man she married after my parents divorced and my mother and I left Nappanee and moved to Berne. We also left the Mennonite church, of course. (You should know that I, however, returned to the Mennonite church as a teenager and married a Mennonite man.)
