The Patch of Heaven Collection

by Kelly Long

  She looked up at him, her eyes earnest. “Ach, but this is a special order. A wedding anniversary quilt. A remake of a Double Nine-Patch Chain with cotton percale and sateen as well as the chambray. I can’t stop yet.” Her voice ended on a faintly pleading note, and he felt a surge of remorse for being critical. He knew what it was like to be close to finishing a painting and then to have to stop.

  He grabbed a chair, straddled it, and sat down. Then he reached across the expanse of fabric and slid a needle from the quilt roll.

  “What are you doing?”

  He grinned at her. “Quilting.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  He threaded the needle with an easy hand and bent to begin to stitch.

  “Ach, please don’t. You’ll ruin . . .” Her voice trailed away, and Seth looked up after he’d completed five perfect stitches.

  Grace stared at him like he had two heads. “Wherever did you learn?”

  “I worked on Lilly’s wedding quilt a bit and I picked it up, that’s all. I kind of think of it as painting, but with fabric.”

  Grace smiled at him, but he had the strange feeling that the smile was a veil, something between them but not meant to draw them together. “The bishop might have an admonition for you for speaking of painting and quilting in such a manner. You make it sound like art.”

  Seth paused in mid-stitch. He had no idea how she’d respond if she knew about the painting that he did in secret. He opted for a cautious approach with Grace, though he hardly knew how he’d keep it from her once she’d seen his bedroom.

  “You don’t like art?”

  “We are not permitted.” Her shrug was dismissive, but he felt the instinct to pursue.

  “Was the last Amisch community you lived in very conservative?”

  “Very.”

  “Perhaps you will find some things different here.”

  “I—I already do, of course.” She seemed to be searching for a comfortable footing in their talk, and it puzzled him.

  “Then how do you personally feel about art?”

  She stopped stitching to look up at him. “I—I have not considered . . .”

  He nodded. “Our people usually don’t. But you surely understand art and beauty, considering your quilt creations here.”

  “‘There is no beauty without purpose.’” She quoted the old Amish adage as if she’d caught hold of a lifeline.

  He wouldn’t press any further—upsetting his bride was not good form. He bowed his head, then grinned at her.

  “I yield to the proverb.”

  Grace watched his golden head catch the light of the lamp as he worked, and she resumed her quilting with a tangled sense of relief and curiosity. In truth, she saw art in the simplest of things: a spider’s web glittered with dew, the bend of Abel’s neck, the flowing mane of a horse. But Silas had taught her a dark silence of the soul and mind. He had compressed her sense of self until there was nothing left. Seth Wyse, however, seemed altogether different. In a way, that frightened her more than any of Silas’s punishments. For she could not give him something that was gone—the girl she once had been.

  And the woman she was now seemed like a poor substitute.

  CHAPTER 9

  Where have you been? It’s past three a.m.” Jacob said irritably.

  Seth’s shoulders drooped with fatigue. All he wanted was the refuge of his bed for a brief hour. He blinked in the inky darkness and then a lamp flickered. Jacob lay sprawled in his bed.

  “Lilly throw you out?” Seth asked as he started to undress.

  “Funny, bruder. Nee, I told you I’d help you, and I have a promise to keep.” Jacob tossed a rolled quilt at him and he caught it with weariness.

  “What’s this?”

  “Tabitha King’s Bachelor’s Choice quilt, remember? She’s invited to the wedding, by the way.”

  Seth groaned, putting the quilt on a dresser as he slid off his shirt. “Why is she invited? The woman is crazy as a loon.”

  “Don’t you remember? The quilt is her gift to you, so that when you sleep under it, you’ll dream of your future bride.”

  “I don’t have time to sleep, let alone dream. And I happen to know my future bride. Now, get out of my bed.”

  Jacob hefted himself up. “Want me to tuck you in?”

  “Go away.”

  Seth dropped onto the mattress with a sigh of pleasure. He felt it when Jacob slid the quilt over him but was too tired to care as sleep engulfed him.

  Her black hair was short. It bothered him because it seemed all wrong for an Amish woman, but when he ran his hands through the silky curls, he felt his heart turn over. Her back was to him and he bent to snuggle closer to her petite frame. She smelled of fresh linen and sunshine. He threaded his fingers around her belly, and she rubbed tenderly at the blue paint stains that smudged his hands.

  Then something intervened—a sinister black shadow that seemed to arise from the ground between them, pushing him away and engulfing her. He tried to break through, called her name, then called it again, frantic: “Grace!”

  “Seth, do you have to be hollering your bride’s name out loud even on your wedding morning?”

  His mother stood over his bed, a smile on her lips as she lifted the edge of the Bachelor’s Choice quilt. “I guess Tabitha King was right.”

  Seth levered himself up on one elbow and blinked sleepily in the light of the new dawn. The quilt slipped from his shoulder, and he reached to feel the colorful fabric. He had dreamed of his bride, but it had been disturbing rather than pleasant. What had Jacob said about Grace? Deep water. Perhaps he should pray for stamina to swim.

  He grinned wryly to himself, then reached an arm up to catch his mom around the waist, pulling her with ease onto the edge of the bed and giving her a quick hug.

  She giggled like a girl. “Ach, Seth . . .”

  “Has anyone told you lately how wunderbaar a mamm you are?”

  “A gentleman might tell me,” she said primly.

  “Well, gentleman or not, this man will tell you that it takes a special mother to welcome a new daughter-in-law and grandson on a day’s notice, and my bet is that you have been up for quite a while baking and such.”

  “I did hear you come in late. Would you forgive a special mother for asking what you were doing at that hour?”

  He smiled at her tenderly. “Quilting, Mamm. Quilting.”

  “All right. I’ll try to believe that if you’ll allow me one more question.”

  He settled back on the bed and folded his arms behind his head. “Anything.”

  “Seth, forgive me, but I—we—your fater and I would have to be blind not to notice the way you’ve felt about Grace right along. But she didn’t seem to return the favor. I just wonder if, perhaps, the two of you made a mistake somewhere along the line. Both women and men can do that, you know. It’s just that—well, if I’m to be a grandmother again soon, I’d rather hear it from your lips first than, say, Esther Zook’s . . .”

  She trailed off helplessly, blushing.

  Seth laughed out loud. “Mother, are you asking me if Grace is pregnant?”

  “Jah, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. I know it all seems wild, but no, Grace is not carrying my child.”

  She patted his cheek with a sigh. “That’s all right then. I mean, it would have been all right the other way—not that it would have been right, you realize. But . . . I mean—”

  Seth laughed again. “Mamm, you are a treasure.”

  What are you doing, Mamm?”

  Grace turned from the trunk where she balanced unevenly on one leg and the walking cast. “You’re up early, even for your birthday.”

  “What are you doing?” he repeated.

  “Looking for a dress to wear to the wedding. Happy birthday.”

  “What dress did you wear then?”

  “Then?” Grace tried to catch him close for a hug, but he allowed it for only a moment.

  “Then—when you married
Fater.”

  Grace drew a steadying breath. What had she worn? It was all a nightmarish blur . . . Blue. Of course it would have been blue.

  “Then? It was a blue dress, I think. I guess I’ll wear this one today. It’s more purple.”

  Abel spun slowly around, his toe in a groove on the floor. “But you always wear black.”

  Grace shut her eyes against the memory. It was true. Silas had drained all of the color out of her life, including in what she was permitted to wear. She fingered the fabric in her hand and swallowed the lump in her throat. Would Seth Wyse care what she wore? It didn’t matter. Clothes were nothing to her anymore.

  She looped the dress over one arm, then limped to the kitchen to eat the breakfast that Violet had prepared.

  CHAPTER 10

  Tobias Beiler had taken great pains with his appearance and brushed into the Wyse home with a smile and a nod to the small woman greeting people at the door.

  “Uh, forgive me—I’m Seth’s mother, Mary Wyse. Are you a close relative?”

  “Indeed I am.” He smiled faintly. “Of the bride.”

  Mary Wyse nodded, her hazel eyes puzzled. “Then come in, please. Grace is upstairs getting ready, but my son is here, and Abel.”

  “Danki. I’ll make myself at home.” He moved past her as more people entered, then scanned the crowd. His eyes suddenly locked on his nephew’s, and he saw the child tremble with fear. He grinned and strolled over.

  “Hello, hero. Hiya, Abel. I’ve come to wish you well. Both you and your sweet mamm, of course.” He put a hand on the boy’s shaking shoulder and Seth knocked it off with a casual move.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “It’s my right to see this wedding performed, to assure that it’s not some sham to protect a beautiful woman,” Tobias said. Seth stared at him, and he felt the sudden tingle of fear.

  “Abel, go and stand with Jacob for a while. It’s all right. I will speak to your—this man,” Seth said.

  Tobias lifted a glass of water from a nearby table and eyed Seth over the rim as Abel wandered off. “Are you sure she’s worth being saddled with him? Looks through your soul, he does.”

  Tobias saw the tension in the younger man’s body and went on softly. “So, Seth, is it? What do you think your wedding night’s going to be like, after all those years with my brother?”

  “You have five seconds before I rip your throat out right here.”

  Tobias laughed out loud, then realized he was attracting attention. A tall, dark haired-man with flashing eyes crossed the room.

  “Trouble here, little bruder?” the man asked.

  “Nothing I can’t work out.”

  “Jah, but you shouldn’t have to work anything out—not on your wedding day. Allow me.”

  Tobias struggled against the man’s iron grip. “I have a right to be here. Tell him, hero.”

  Seth gave a curt nod, and the dark-haired man relaxed his grip a little. “Not one word,” he breathed. “You stay at the back of the room, and when this is over, you’re gone. Get it?”

  Tobias gritted his teeth at the bone-crunching pain in his arm and nodded. “Jah.”

  Seth watched Jacob escort Tobias Beiler across the room with what appeared to be a casual air, but he knew the strength in his brother’s hand. Beiler was practically wincing by the time they reached an obscure corner.

  Seth drew a deep, shaky breath. He’d never lost his temper so badly, but for a brief moment, he thought he might lay hands on Beiler. Thanks be to Gott, Jacob had intervened.

  Seth looked around, found Abel frozen among a small swirl of guests, and went to him. He stooped down and fooled with the child’s pant cuff, not wanting anyone to listen. “Abel, it’s all right. Do you hear me?”

  “Mama said the bad man would go away if we married you.”

  “He will,” Seth said. “As soon as your mama and I are married. As soon as me and you are married, right? Jacob’s got the bad man and won’t let him go. You’re safe.”

  The boy’s lower lip trembled. “I want my mamm.”

  “She’s upstairs. She doesn’t know the bad man’s here. Let’s keep it a secret between us men? Then she won’t worry, then she’ll be happy. She’s safe, Abel. I promise.”

  Seth waited with some anxiety while the child thought. Grace would be terrified to know Beiler was there. He didn’t want that to color the beginning of their life together. Besides, Jacob would handle it.

  “All right,” Abel agreed. “Between us men.”

  Seth dragged his attention back to the boy. “Brave man. Stand by me while we get ready for your mamm to walk in, all right? And don’t worry. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  Grace had accepted Mary Wyse’s offer of help and now found herself upstairs with Jacob’s wife, Lilly, sitting in light underthings while Lilly pressed her purple dress. She could have managed, she supposed—she always had before—but still it was nice to have the help. Grace had arranged her own hair and kapp at home, and Seth had brought her over and helped her upstairs. Violet had disappeared shortly after they arrived, probably helping Mary Wyse with the preparations downstairs.

  Grace glanced at Lilly—tall, dark-haired, and elegant in her simplicity. She was the local schoolteacher, and Abel adored her.

  “Seth told me that you’re expecting,” Grace said shyly.

  Lilly looked up from the heavy iron and smiled. “Jah, we are. We’re so happy.”

  Grace nodded in understanding. “Pregnancy can be a special time between a couple, I would imagine.”

  Lilly brought the warm dress to her. “I’m sorry that you have to imagine such a thing. Did you not—I mean, was your first husband not affectionate?”

  Grace shook her head. “Nee, he was not.”

  “Well, Seth will be,” Lilly said stoutly. “And he’ll be an excellent father to Abel and all the kinner that come along.”

  Grace knew she should feel reassured, but the idea of carrying Seth’s baby terrified her. She wondered if she would ever be able to trust him like a wife should.

  She slipped on the dress and allowed Lilly to fuss with the folds. Her gaze drifted to the small bureau mirror, where she caught a glimpse of her own eyes. Purple pools of sadness in a wan face.

  Not the eyes of a happy woman.

  Not the face of a bride.

  Violet skimmed a finger down the length of the flower’s stem and covertly eyed the man who was spending a lot of time tending to his horses. He wasn’t handsome in any conventional sense of the word, but there was something about him. Something . . . interesting. Mary Wyse had asked her to run outside and pick a few flowers for the table, and here she was dawdling, waylaid by her own thoughts.

  She grabbed a few more flowers and then stepped behind a bush so she wouldn’t be seen spying on him. What was he doing? He had pulled something from his horse’s side and held it cupped in his hand. He bent over it for a moment, then straightened up and came straight toward her.

  She ducked down as he approached the bush and deposited a green baby caterpillar on a large leaf. Then, just when she thought she was safe, he looked through the branches and saw her.

  He flushed, visibly startled.

  She shielded her eyes to blink up at him in the summer’s sun. “Hello. Are you here for Seth? I’m Violet Raber, the bride’s sister. I’m supposed to help greet the guests.” She glanced at the inching caterpillar. “And that was very nice.”

  The man’s hazel eyes narrowed as he gazed down at her with a frown. “Then shouldn’t you be inside?” he asked.

  Violet was undaunted. “I’m to greet the guests—you included, apparently.”

  “Luke King,” he said tersely.

  “Ach . . . may I call you Luke?” she asked, lifting the flowers to her nose in a coy gesture and stepping from behind the leaves.

  “Nee,” he snapped, then brushed past her to mount the steps of the house.

  The thought dropped into her mind fully formed, and yet instinctively
she knew it was true. There was something about him, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Something she liked.

  She found herself humming as she finished gathering the flowers. “Now that,” she murmured to herself, “is a man worth pursuing.”

  CHAPTER 11

  A woman is like a wrapped gift . . .”

  Bishop Loftus paused, and Seth resisted the urge to laugh. The sacred vows had already been said, and now the bishop had begun to give the traditional admonitions and exhortations. But Bishop Loftus wasn’t exactly traditional in his approaches, and there was simply no way to predict what the good man might say. He had an odd way of making his point.

  “Jah, a wrapped gift,” the old man went on. “And if she will open herself to her community, her children, her husband, then she will be a continual source of blessing. But this gift needs to be handled with care—sacred care.”

  Seth felt his mind begin to drift as the bishop droned on. He thought with pleasure of how gut Abel looked after he and Jacob had suited him up. He loved the way Grace’s eyes had shone with something like happiness when she’d seen her son, but there had also been a soberness about her. Seth gazed down at his bride as she stood across from him, and then Beiler’s sinister words seeped through his mind like dark oil.

  “Do you so promise, Seth Wyse?” The bishop’s voice snapped him back to the moment and he stared at the man, feeling his face flush as the keen, knowing old eyes swept over him.

  “I—uh, of course. Of course I promise.” There was a general rustling and sigh of approval from the few family and friends seated behind them, and Seth slowly exhaled with relief, having absolutely no idea what he’d committed to.

  “Gut!” The bishop nodded with approval and a wry smile. “And, Grace, will you do the same?”

  “Jah.”

  Her soft reply sent an odd tingling down Seth’s spine and he shifted his weight.

  Then there was a brief concluding prayer, and he turned with Grace to face the small gathering. Seth saw Jacob escorting Beiler out the back screen door and exhaled a sigh of relief and satisfaction. He had kept Grace and Abel safe.