“I’ll take those bags of clothes down to the thrift store now,” Annie said.
“Thank you.” Mrs. Weichert was counting bills at the cash register. “They’ll try to pay you, but I don’t want their money.”
One in each hand, Annie hefted two black plastic garbage bags by the knots tied at the tops.
Mrs. Weichert crossed the store and picked up the red volume Annie had been eyeing. She stuck it under Annie’s arm. “You might as well take this. I can tell you want to read it, and it will be next to impossible to sell.”
“Thank you.” It was not the first book Mrs. Weichert had stuck under Annie’s arm after finding her picking it up repeatedly during her shifts.
“You can go on home after that,” Mrs. Weichert said. “It looks like rain. No one will be coming in.”
“All right. Thanks.”
“Don’t forget you have tomorrow off. My daughter will be here to help.”
Mrs. Weichert held the door open, and Annie stepped out onto the sidewalk. They always took the clothes that turned up in Mrs. Weichert’s shop to the thrift store three doors down. Sometimes she bought the odds and ends of an estate sale, and getting the dishes or small furniture she wanted meant she also had to take old clothes.
Vintage clothes, Annie had once corrected her employer. If they just set up one rack in the shop, she was sure they could sell them. Once again her entrepreneurial streak had raised its head, and once again Mrs. Weichert had no interest.
“What delights have you brought us today?” Carlene, perched on a stool behind the counter at the thrift store, raised her eyes and smiled.
Annie liked Carlene’s natural warmth. “I’m afraid I didn’t even look this time. I hope you find something worth your while.”
“I remember how you used to come in here for clothes when you first came to town. You had a good eye for value.”
Annie dropped the two bags behind the counter and gestured toward her Amish dress. “Now look at me.”
Carlene stood up and hit a button on the cash register. “Let me give you something to take to Mrs. Weichert.”
Annie raised both hands. “You know she won’t take it.”
“I’m not running a charity shop, you know.”
“Well, neither is she.” Annie scanned the shop. “Maybe I’ll have a look around for old time’s sake.”
“There’s some nice bedding in the back if you need any blankets for the winter.”
Knowing that Mrs. Weichert did not expect her back, Annie was in no hurry. She ran her hand along a pile of sweaters then opened a blank journal. Farther down the aisle, she picked up a backpack that looked brand new and started checking the zippers and clasps. Voices hissed from the other side of the shelf.
“Why do I have to get a sleeping bag here?” a small boy whined.
The voice sounded like its owner was no older than Jacob Beiler. Annie dipped her head slightly to try to see him through the shelving.
“Because you are the one who lost your old sleeping bag. I’m not paying good money to replace it with something brand new.”
“But I didn’t!”
“I washed it and hung it on the line myself,” the child’s mother said. “It would be just like you to drag it off somewhere and get it dirty again. And then you didn’t want to tell me the truth because you thought you would get in trouble. One way or another you’re going to learn your lesson.”
“But Mom,” the boy insisted, “I didn’t take it off the line. I’m telling you the truth. Why won’t you believe me?”
“We’re finished talking about this. The only reason I’m buying you another sleeping bag at all is because you were invited on that camping trip.”
“I don’t want to go if I have to take this dumb little kid’s sleeping bag.”
“You promised your friend you would go, and you will.”
The woman nudged her son’s shoulder toward the front of the store. She may not have believed the boy’s protests, but Annie did.
“She’s not here,” Mrs. Weichert said when Ruth ducked her head into the antiques shop looking for Annalise. “I sent her to the thrift store and then told her she didn’t need to come back.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Weichert.”
Ruth paced down the sidewalk to the thrift store, pulled its door open, and nearly tripped over Annalise.
“Ruth, what are you doing here?”
“I’m finished for the day, and I hear you are, too.”
Annalise nodded. “I’m still not used to seeing you in scrubs.”
Ruth tugged at the hem of her shirt. “I’m not sure I’m used to wearing them, either.”
“They look comfortable.”
“They are.” Ruth grinned. “I’m in the mood for a sandwich from the bakery. Want one?”
“Sure. My stomach has been rumbling for an hour.”
They crossed the street and ambled toward the other end of Main Street.
“Ruth,” Annalise said, “we didn’t get a chance to talk the other day. Why was that man out at the house?”
Ruth’s stomach clenched. She knew Annalise was going to ask—and that was one of the reasons Ruth suggested lunch, to get this conversation out of the way.
“I suppose because he wanted my phone number.” Ruth steeled herself for Annalise’s response.
“An English man is interested in you?” Annalise’s jaw dropped.
“Is that so hard to believe?” Indignation roiled in Ruth’s stomach.
“Well, no, I didn’t mean it like that.” Annalise hid her hands under her black apron. “I just didn’t think…well, that you would…”
“Be interested in an English man? Is that what you can’t bring yourself to say?”
“Um…yes, actually. I know how you feel about Elijah Capp and how he feels about you.”
Ruth kicked a pebble. “And you also know it’s an impossible situation.”
“I am not ready to concede that point.”
Ruth did not want to offend Annalise by suggesting that her friend still thought like an English sometimes. “It’s complicated, Annalise. Besides, I have done nothing to encourage Bryan Nichols. I don’t think he even knows what it would mean to get involved with someone like me, or he would never have shown up at my parents’ house.”
Annalise nodded. “I have to agree with you there.”
“It will blow over in a few days.”
“Is that what you want?”
Ruth put one hand in the patch pocket of her scrubs shirt. “It’s the best thing. Bryan just doesn’t know it yet.”
They reached the bakery. Annalise held open the door, and Ruth moved to one of three small round tables.
“What would you like?” Ruth asked. “My treat. It’s the least I can do for free rent this semester.”
Annalise set her book on the table and pondered the handwritten menu. “How about roast beef on hearty whole wheat?”
“I’ll order.” Ruth took her debit card from a pocket. “You sit.”
The bakery was empty other than Ruth and Annalise and the two employees behind the counter. Ruth ordered the sandwiches then pointed to two enormous chocolate chip cookies. She sidestepped to the end of the counter and pulled several paper napkins out of a metal dispenser. Behind her the shop’s door creaked open.
When Ruth turned around, she was face-to-face with Mrs. Capp.
“Hello, Ruth.” Mrs. Capp neither smiled nor scowled.
Ruth cleared her throat, looking for her voice. “Hello. How are you?”
“Fine. We are all fine.”
“That’s good.”
“Elijah tells me you plan to be nearby for a few months.”
“Just for the semester. Then I will go back to school.”
“Why don’t you come for supper one night?”
Ruth nearly choked on the effort it took not to let her jaw go slack. “You’re kind to ask.”
“I mean it. You and Elijah need some time to talk.”
Ruth
said nothing, unsure whether Mrs. Capp wanted her to talk to Elijah in hopes they would reunite or so Elijah would let go once and for all.
Two sturdy plates clinked against the counter behind her, and Ruth turned to see the sandwiches and cookies. She picked them up then said, “It was nice to see you.”
Annalise’s gray eyes were wide with curiosity. “What did she say?”
“She invited me to supper.”
“Will you go?”
Ruth moistened her lips before sucking them both in.
“I’m not sure,” Rufus said into the cell phone he used only for business conversations. “Might I have one more day to make a decision?”
“I’ll ask Jeff if he can wait another day,” Tom Reynolds said. “He seems eager to have you. You’ll be a reliable worker for a change.”
“I appreciate his kindness in considering me.” Rufus scratched the back of his head. “But it will mean a very different schedule over the winter, and I must be certain this is God’s provision. I do not want to grasp at straws out of lack of faith.”
Rufus had kissed Annalise rather than talk to her about the job. It was hochmut, he feared, that kept him from being forthright. Pride. He wanted to provide for a woman who was more than capable of providing for herself. The kiss was meant to reassure her, while she waited for words he knew she wanted to hear.
But it might have confused her instead. It certainly confused him.
“I promise to have a decision tomorrow,” Rufus said to Tom. “Being away from my family, leaving behind my own work, installing cabinets for an English—this is not a change I would make lightly.”
“I understand,” Tom said. “I’ll wait to hear from you tomorrow.”
Rufus closed the flip phone and set it on his workbench. When he turned to find his pencil and review his sketches for a new end table design, he saw Joel.
Rufus wiped one hand across his eyes. “I suppose you heard that.”
Joel nodded. “The last bit. Enough to know you are thinking of taking a job with an English.”
“It’s not a permanent job,” Rufus said. “A few weeks, a few months, perhaps. It’s just hanging cabinets.”
“Are you serious about it?”
Rufus used his pencil to darken the lines of his drawing. “We both know things are not going as well with the farm as we would like. My cabinetry work has had some disappointments as well.”
“And you want to get married.”
Rufus was silent.
“You know Annalise won’t care about money. Look at everything she has given up.”
“I know. But I still have to keep my business afloat.”
Joel spread his hands on the workbench and leaned toward Rufus. “If you don’t take it, I’d like you to recommend me.”
Rufus met his brother’s gaze.
“I’m serious. I’ve helped you hang cabinets enough times to know how to measure and get things straight.”
Rufus sank into an Adirondack chair on the front porch later in the afternoon, laid the brown leather accounts book in his lap, and lifted his eyes to the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. Already snow brushed the peaks. In a few weeks, the range would be snowcapped for the duration of the winter.
He relished living in Colorado. Not once had he regretted the decision to move from Pennsylvania and join the new settlement. Though his business faced a setback at the moment, overall work had been steady for the last seven years. God’s provision.
Rufus opened the accounts book then picked up the pen laid inside its spine and used it as a marker as he reviewed the small amounts still owed to him. Until now, David had always been sure he could sell whatever pieces Rufus had time to make for the store. Now Rufus faced the question of whether he himself believed the pieces would continue to sell. Could he afford to keep making them, confident he would eventually recoup his investment?
His father appeared at the bottom of the porch stairs. “I hope your business is in better shape than mine.”
Rufus closed his accounts book. “Is it so bad, Daed?”
Eli Beiler progressed up the steps and sank into a chair beside his son. “You know the harvest from the spring planting was disappointing. The soil is so stubborn out here.”
“But you’ve just planted the winter alfalfa. Joel is learning everything he can about soil nutrients. Things will be better in the spring.”
“My faith wavers on that point, Rufus.”
Rufus said nothing.
“I let Joel talk me into one more season of alfalfa before rotating the crops. What kind of doddering old man have I become that I take advice from a seventeen-year-old?”
“Farming out here is not like in Pennsylvania. You’re both learning.”
Eli sighed. “This could be an expensive lesson. The farm needs a few thousand in cash. I can go over my own books night and day, and I still don’t see where it is going to come from. I am stretched to my limit with the bank.”
“I thought you still had some reserves from the land you sold in Pennsylvania when we decided to come here.”
Eli leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I’ve been drawing down rapidly of late.”
“I didn’t realize it was that bad, Daed.”
“God will provide.” Eli lifted his gaze to the mountains. “At the moment, I admit I have trouble imagining how.”
Rufus made a decision in that moment. Annalise would just have to understand.
Twelve
Annie did not push against Ruth’s hesitancy to answer questions about Bryan Nichols. They finished their sandwiches, and Ruth headed back to work at the clinic while Annie strolled home. She waved at the librarian opening up the narrow storefront branch for afternoon hours and paused to read the sale banners in the dollar store window. When she lived in Colorado Springs, Annie drove everywhere. Now she could work and shop and socialize within a few blocks of her home. She would miss that.
She assumed that when she and Rufus married they would live a few miles from town, as all the Amish families did.
Sometimes, like now, Annie wondered if she were assuming too much. Rufus still had not said a word about getting married. And she was not going to be the one to bring it up.
She turned down the ragged side street that hosted her narrow green century-old house. Outside the house next door, her neighbor stood in the front yard, hands on hips and exasperation flashing across her face.
“What’s wrong, Barb?” Annie paused to see if she could help.
“Oh, nothing serious. Just aggravating.” Barb flashed her eyes around the yard. “The cat’s milk dish is gone.”
“The one you leave on the front porch?”
Barb nodded. “If I had a dog, I would understand if it carried the dish off to bury. But cats don’t do that.”
“I hope it turns up.”
“I don’t know why I’m looking for it. Obviously someone took it. Who would be desperate enough to take a cat dish?” Barb turned to go inside her home, and Annie—her steps slowed—walked a few more yards to her own driveway. She knew one person desperate enough to take a cat dish.
The same person who would take a lantern, garden vegetables, and a sleeping bag from a clothesline. And perhaps even a cat. Had Leah Deitwaller said where she got the kitten she cradled in her apron that day? Where would she be getting milk?
Annie made up her mind. She had the whole afternoon ahead of her, and a free day tomorrow. She would get on her bicycle and look for Leah even if she had to crank those pedals for a hundred miles crisscrossing the land around Westcliffe.
She paced up the driveway to the back of the house. When she found Leah, Annie wanted to be prepared. The basket on the front of her bicycle would hold some fruit and bread with a couple of water bottles. In the kitchen she made three turkey sandwiches and grabbed an apple and a peach. No telling how hungry Leah would be.
Annie was lifting the garage door to retrieve her white three-speed bike when an old Ford Taurus pulled into the driveway. Julene We
ichert got out.
“My grandmother has been taken to the hospital in Pueblo,” Julene said. “Mom and I need to head over there right away. Can you watch the store?”
Annie glanced at her bike.
“I know you were supposed to have the time off.” Julene dangled keys from one hand. “It might be a couple of days before we come back. Depends what we find out.”
Annie gripped the bottom of the garage door and heaved it down.
Annie fidgeted around the store all Tuesday afternoon. For the most part, she simply sorted through items she knew had been on the shelves a long time, separating some to box up and rotating out some new items from the back room.
Two people came into the shop in the space of three hours. Annie chewed on her bottom lip and tapped her toes all afternoon, watching the clock and glancing out the front window every few minutes.
Leah was out there. She was somehow managing to take care of herself and a kitten, but Annie did not like the visions that floated through her head about where Leah might be holed up.
For no good reason. That was the part that burned Annie. Maybe it was unrealistic for Leah to go home to her parents. Maybe their relationship was too damaged to work things out. But was sleeping who knows where and stealing off people’s porches really the best option?
Annie groaned in the late afternoon as the sky darkened. Rain. The farms and ranches surrounding Westcliffe needed the water. She had no doubt of that. Even if the rain blew through quickly, as Colorado storms often did, soggy soil would make biking around nearly impossible.
The rain did not blow through. Instead it settled into a steady, drenching rhythm. When Annie closed up the shop, she hung her sweater over her head for the dash home. Over a bowl of soup she sat at her small oval dining room table and stared out the window wondering how Leah was keeping warm. Or if Leah was keeping warm.
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