Gathering the Threads

by Cindy Woodsmall

  After the Brennemans had left for church, she put on her coat and boots and started walking. Thank God for meeting Sundays! Those two days each month gave her time to do what she wanted without anyone there to answer to.

  Usually she ate junk food, smoked cigarettes, and read People magazines—all of which she purchased with her tip money at a little gas station near the café. But today she’d been unable to go back to sleep or even sit still. Her emotions were taking her everywhere, but nowhere good, and the desire to ransack medicine cabinets and find a drug made her flee the house.

  Once at the shanty she opened the door, which creaked as she went inside. An old phone sat on a handmade desk that was basically a long shelf. She picked up the receiver and dialed a number.

  “Hello?” Jax sounded wide awake and upbeat, even though it wasn’t yet ten on a Sunday morning. The background noise sounded different, as if her call was coming through the Bluetooth device in his vehicle. If it was, whatever she said would be on speaker. What if he wasn’t alone?

  Despite Skylar’s ability to be brazenly outspoken, she couldn’t find her voice.

  “Is this an automated sales call on a Sunday?” he asked. “You have to the count of three to speak. One…two…”

  “Don’t hang up.” She sounded pitiful and desperate, and she wished she’d just let him end the call.

  “Uh, okay.”

  Silence hung in the air as Skylar wrangled with using him as a sounding board. Did he even know who was on this end of the call? Maybe she could hang up and he’d never realize who it was.

  “Skylar, you still there?” Jax asked.

  Too late. Since he already distrusted her, no matter what she said, he certainly couldn’t think any less of her. More important, he had experience with addicts.

  “Yeah.” She drew a deep breath. “Look, I know you want to keep your distance from someone like me, and in theory I understand. I’m not the easiest person to be around. But I’ve been clean nine weeks and six days, and when tomorrow comes, I’d like to say I’ve been clean ten weeks. You know?”

  “Okay. I get it. Tell me what you need.”

  “I have no idea!” She pulled the cigarettes from her coat pocket and lit one.

  “You at the farm?”

  “Yeah, like they have a phone, and I’m in my pj’s all cozy by the fire while we talk.”

  “True. What phone—gas station or the community one?”

  “I’m at the community one.” She drew smoke into her lungs. “Sorry for snapping.”

  “Yeah, like you have to be calm and reserved or I can’t handle it.” He imitated her sarcasm, except he was being kind instead of bratty.

  Silence filled the air again. She had no idea what to say, but he was nothing like she imagined a former marine would be. Kind, upbeat, and really honest. She was drawn to his honesty as much as he was cautious of her addiction.

  “Don’t go quiet, Skylar. You called with vinegar in your blood. Cut a vein and let it out.”

  “Ariana’s back.”

  “Yeah, you’ve known for a few weeks now that she was coming, right?”

  She inhaled the smoke, and the burning tobacco mimicked how she felt—a small, angry fire that left poisons in its wake, toxins she would pay for years down the road. “Knowing about a thing and it happening are entirely different.”

  “Very true.”

  “I met her yesterday.”

  “How’d that go?”

  “She was really nice to me. It blew my mind. The family had killed the fatted calf, so to speak, and we had a feast last night. But the pleasant conversation turned sour. Lovina and Isaac want her to think and feel like she did before going away. I felt bad for them. I could hear my dad’s influence in Ariana’s answers, and yet everything she said was reasonable, and what she wants is perfectly normal for someone our age…who’s not Amish.” Skylar sat in the metal folding chair, and it sent a chill through her. “It caused so much friction her boyfriend took her outside to go for a walk.” She told him about the breakfast conversation and how she ended up defending Ariana to her sisters. “But then…” Skylar trembled as anger crawled out of its hiding place. “Are you in your truck by yourself?”

  “Of course. If I wasn’t, I would’ve said so right after hello.”

  She should’ve known that. “Ariana is leaving again. Around four this afternoon. She told Isaac that she needed to go away, and she is going, against his wishes.” Skylar opened the door to the shanty and flicked her cigarette into the snow. “I’ve been stuck in this hellhole working at her café for months, and she returns only to pack up and go to a hotel less than twenty-four hours later! But that’s not the real kicker. She had no money—big surprise there. But I’m not stupid. She’s going to call Mom or Dad to get the money.”

  “Sky—”

  “No. I’m not listening to any kindhearted, rational empathy about this. They dumped me here, took every last cent I had, my car, and my phone, but I can guarantee you they’ll give her whatever she wants! Here, Ariana, you want a car? How about a limitless credit card?” She paced, the cord twisting and stretching as she moved. “I’m shaking so hard I can’t stand it, and all I want to do is ransack medicine cabinets.”

  “Come with me this morning. I’m headed your way. I turned around at the start of the conversation, and I can be there to get you in ten.”

  “You were on your way to church, weren’t you? You’re one of those, and it’s why you’re awake and moving this early on a Sunday. No way am I going to church. I’d rather overdose, thank you very much.”

  “But you won’t overdose, will you? At least not for years to come. You’ll just ease the daily pain while slowly becoming numb to all that matters, all the while falling deeper and deeper in love with the next fix. You’ll undo the work you’ve done and who you could be and become someone you hate. Addicts who are using have the Midas touch, but everything they touch turns to ashes.”

  “Shut up, Jax.” She hung up the phone and pressed the palm of her hand against her forehead, rubbing it until her skin hurt.

  But he was right. They both knew it.

  The phone sat there, silent and yet daring her to walk away. She could wait all day and he wouldn’t call back. This was her battle. If she asked for help, he’d give it. If she sank into the miry pit of addiction, he’d let her. His mother had been an addict, but worse than that, she got her drugs by convincing doctors that Jax had ADHD. She’d mutilated his life in order to make him seem as if he had issues he didn’t have. So it wasn’t surprising he had no tolerance for anyone who used drugs.

  Skylar put her hand on the receiver. But if, instead, she walked out of the shanty, she could go straight to someone’s medicine cabinet for Xanax, pain pills, cough medicine with codeine.

  She picked up the phone and called him. When she heard the soft static background, she knew he’d picked up. “I…I’m sorry. I’ve not been this out of sorts in a really long time. I don’t know what to do. I’m an ocean of anger, Jax.”

  “Come with me. I’m not going to church…per se.”

  She didn’t know what that meant, but she was afraid to ask, afraid his answer would cause her to yell at him and hang up. “But I’ve got on jeans.”

  “Good ones?”

  “No. They’re frayed and soiled.”

  “Even better. Go with me.”

  She couldn’t continue discounting all faith while she wallowed in death-defying cynicism. “Yeah. Okay.”

  Quill strode across the top of the rafters, unrolling coiled wires throughout the attic of the unfinished house. But his mind was on WEDV—Women Escaping Domestic Violence. A woman named Melanie from WEDV had called him last night, asking if he’d meet with her today. Her organization helped women in violent relationships get to safety when the local authorities couldn’t protect them. She explained that she had Quill’s contact info and knew of him because a former Amish person he’d once helped now worked for WEDV.

  She’d been very
professional throughout the conversation, but he heard a sense of urgency in her voice that made him think there might be a specific woman WEDV needed help getting to safety. It would be hard to turn down a volunteer position. The idea sounded good for several reasons. One was that he needed a distraction from thinking about Ariana—a loud distraction that might have to last a lifetime.

  As grateful as he was for work and family, there was something deeply satisfying about helping those in need to get to the other side and begin life anew. Freedom was often hard to come by for some, but without it, life withered, causing hardships on the imprisoned and on future generations as well.

  His phone vibrated, and Ariana’s designated tone chirped. The surprise of it literally threw him off balance, and he grabbed a truss overhead. They’d texted briefly after she’d arrived home on Saturday, but he hadn’t expected to hear from her again anytime soon, maybe for months. And it was only Wednesday. He dropped the remaining coil of wires on the rafters and insulation before pulling the phone from his jeans. The message was in a bubble across his screen.

  Can we talk?

  His heart picked up its pace, but that was the norm whenever Ariana was involved.

  His Mamm called her the Thread Gatherer. Mamm believed life was like an heirloom quilt that life ripped at the seams, and gatherers were rare. But Ariana took the frayed pieces and worked with them until the quilt could fulfill its purpose once again. Quill had seen her do it. At least once she had done it for him, when he was eighteen and his Daed died of a heart attack.

  Her text made him chuckle. Should he tease her? She was home and happy, with Rudy by her side, so he saw no reason to repress being himself.

  Are we breaking up?

  ’Cause if we are, I’m busy.

  We are.

  But it’s hard to make that official without a first date.

  Dinner?

  You buying?

  What? Seriously, Quill Schlabach?

  The text arrived, but the bubbles indicated she was still texting, so he waited.

  I have to ask you out, buy dinner, and do the breaking up?

  Your mama raised you better than that.

  I was minding my own business, wiring a home, when you…

  Fine! I get it. You’re bored and need some drama.

  I’ll buy your dinner.

  Do you think you could possibly drive to where I am?

  Or do I also have to handle that part?

  Do I get a dessert?

  You’re very needy for one so fiercely independent.

  Not needy. HUNGRY.

  Forget your lunch again?

  No. It was planned.

  I thought, you know what sounds like fun--going hungry!

  See, this is why we have to break up.

  Because I’m hungry?

  Because you have a very warped idea of fun.

  If there wasn’t a great divide between them, they could have fun. Dinners. Movies. Roller-skating. Ice-skating. Sledding. Horseback riding. Bowling. But they had only fleeting moments of laughter over silly things or of gathering threads for the other before life reeled them back in.

  You say warped. I say free food.

  Sorry. It won’t be free. You will pay. Dearly.

  Just not money.

  I’m with Salome at a place called Scarlet Oak B&B.

  It’s ninety minutes north of Summer Grove, off Hwy. 22.

  What? He stared at the text for probably too long before responding. He’d thought they were completely teasing about having dinner, expecting that they’d have to meet somewhere odd like a barn, or he’d pick her up on a side road in town, and they’d talk in his car. Ariana was at a B&B? That was just weird, but it shouldn’t be much more than thirty minutes from this job site.

  He wasn’t too concerned about what was going on. Ariana had passion and emotion to spare, and it got the best of her occasionally. But with a little time, she rallied and got her feet under her.

  Why?

  It’s better than winding up at Long Shots, right?

  She’d received the most shocking news of her life that night, and she’d reluctantly called him because she needed to talk to someone, and he was the only one from her past that Nicholas hadn’t banned from her life. The conversation went badly, and she hung up on him. Things didn’t go much better once he found her inside the bar. But he got her home safely, and the next day she came to him to apologize. It was the beginning of rebuilding the friendship he’d destroyed five years earlier when he disappeared with her best friend, Frieda, leaving Ariana to believe for all those years that he and Frieda were married. He’d been twenty when he left with Frieda, and Ariana had been a child really, only fifteen, so he never allowed her to know how he felt. He’d intended to let her grow up before hinting at his feelings. But before that could happen, he needed to leave with Frieda, and he let Ariana believe the same lie everyone else in Summer Grove believed—that he and Frieda ran off to marry. He had different reasons for needing the community to believe that, but for Ariana it was his way of freeing her. She had a crush on him when he left, and he wanted her to build a life without holding on to any schoolgirl hope that he might return. Because he wouldn’t, not in the way she needed. But then circumstances made him step out of the shadows and tell her the truth…or most of it anyway.

  You okay?

  Working on it.

  Dinner?

  For a moment he questioned whether he should cancel the meeting with WEDV. But that would be a complete overreaction, and it made no practical sense. He would aim to keep the appointment on track so he could be finished on time if not early. When the bubbles went away, he texted.

  Absolutely.

  The bubbles appeared again.

  Salome’s heading home in a few hours.

  Could you come after that?

  I’ll be there by six.

  Ariana held sleeping five-month-old Katie Ann in the crook of one arm while she read to snuggling four-year-old Esther. The love seat that faced the glowing fire in the hearth was perfect on a bleary mid-January afternoon.

  She glanced at Katie Ann’s sweet face while turning pages. When Ariana was away, her arms had ached to hold her little nieces and nephews, and she’d looked forward to snowball fights with the older ones. Despite the roar of confusion in her head, she had no doubts about her feelings for her family.

  She turned another page, read the few words, and waited while Esther ran her little fingers over the details of each illustration. Getting away had helped some, probably because no one here was preaching at her or feeling offended if she saw God’s Word differently. Ariana turned the last page. “And the bunny had found his home.”

  Esther ran her little fingers across the silky page. “Again?”

  Salome walked into the living room, carrying two cups of hot chocolate, one in a light blue mug and the other in a foam cup with a lid. “Look what I have.” She nodded at her daughter as she raised the foam cup toward her. “But you’ll need to sit at the table with the coloring books.”

  Esther smiled, and the scar that trailed down one side of her face contorted differently than the rest of the skin. “Iss es heiss?”

  “Nee. It is fehlerfrei. Perfect.” Salome grinned. “Kumm.”

  Esther put her arms around Ariana’s neck, once again telling her in Pennsylvania Dutch that she’d had the best time ever. She kissed her aunt and hopped down.

  It had been a good visit. Ariana and Salome had talked endlessly, and Salome had been a patient listener as Ariana shared what her life had been like the last three months and all she’d done. They’d laughed about a thousand things from their childhood and seemed to talk every waking hour.

  After Salome helped Esther get settled, she returned and sat. “This place is sheer luxury.”

  Their time was drawing to a close. Salome’s bags were packed and waiting in the foyer, and the driver was on his way. Two of her
three boys were running a fever and needed their Mamm.

  “Luxury would be an overstatement, but it’s quaint with lots of comfortable space, and it’s well-run.”

  “You’re different, Ari. These days you ponder every word, weighing its merit.”

  “Do I?”

  “Ya. It’s not a bad thing, just different. You didn’t used to think so deeply.”

  “I had only two categories—good or bad, right or wrong.” Ariana leaned her head back and stared at the ceiling. “My mind was so closed. And now it’s too open.”

  Salome patted Ariana’s hand. “You’ll figure it out. I know you will.”

  “I hope so.” Her lack of peace scattered her.

  “You must think Quill can help, right?”

  “Maybe. When I left home, he knew how hard a time I was having before I knew it. That night at the bar I told you about? He knew I’d had alcohol, and he knew I was unaware of it. When I realized that the next day, it was the beginning of me saying ‘enough!’ I demand to know myself.”

  Salome giggled. “Ya, ’cause what’s the use of drinking if you’re not feeling it?”

  Ariana laughed. “Exactly.” She reached for Salome’s hand. “There are no words to tell you how grateful and relieved I am that you and Emanuel are staying Amish.”

  “Me too. It was all too much for me to cope with—the severity of Esther’s burns because of that stupid firepit, the pressure from the ministers and the community to treat the burns according to the Old Ways, the utter failure of the poultices to do what was promised, and the horrendous pain she endured—all to avoid using skin grafts and modern medicine.” Salome looked up, as if looking heavenward, shaking her head as she sighed. “I still deal with anger over the whole agonizing situation,” she confessed. “Anger with the ministers, the community, and Mamm and Daed, but most of all anger with our failure as parents by caving to the pressure.”