Dimension. Andrew had brought the dimension to the pattern, just as he had said.
She slapped his drawing on top of hers and closed the cover on the pad. His words rushed back. “The big time ... that’s where I want to go.” Suddenly the discomfort she’d experienced earlier found a basis. Fear struck hard, making her break out in a cold sweat. Would Andrew’s desire for success lead him to undermine her as Mitch had? She shook her head, trying to set aside the worry, yet it niggled.
“Once bitten, twice shy,” she murmured. Turning her face toward the tiled ceiling, she prayed aloud. “Dear God, I’m going to need help, and Andrew is the only one who has any training around here. I need to depend on him, but now I’m afraid to.”
When she was a little girl, Beth had always been able to run to her mother in times of fear or doubt. Although she was hardly a child anymore, the solace of her mother’s attention became a pressing need. She glanced at the wall clock. Henry would be in his shop; Mom would be home alone. It gave her the perfect opportunity to spend some one-on-one time with her mother. Something that would be extremely rare once those twins made their appearance.
A wave akin to fear hit Beth, bringing the sting of tears. The desire to see Mom increased. Grabbing up her coat, she locked the studio and headed for her car. When she knocked on the back door of Henry’s house, however, no one answered. Cupping her hands beside her eyes, she peered through the window. No lights on, no movement. With a frustrated sigh, she returned to her vehicle. Where could Mom be? She rarely ventured outside of Sommerfeld on Saturdays.
Beth considered going to her own home but decided against it. She didn’t want to be alone right now. Even if she couldn’t be with her mother, she wanted to be with someone. The café, she decided, putting the car into DRIVE and turning in that direction. Although it would be less busy now than it had been during the breakfast rush, she could sit in a corner booth, eat a leftover roll, and maybe visit with one of her cousins who served tables. Not the same as being with her mother, but it beat sitting at home by herself.
The Main Street parking areas were still filled with the plain-colored, Sommerfeld vehicles of citizens doing their weekend shopping, as Beth had learned was typical for the community. She parked behind her studio and walked to the café. Only two tables were filled, both with Sommerfeld citizens. The occupants sent lazy glances in her direction, then went back to visiting with each other. But Henry’s niece, who waited tables and ran the dishwasher, skipped across the floor and held out her arms for a hug.
“Hi, Trina,” Beth greeted, appreciating the quick embrace. Trina had been the first person to befriend her when she arrived in town, and Beth held a fondness for the bubbly teenager.
“Hi! Haven’t seen you for a while, although Andrew keeps me up on what you’re doing.”
Beth’s eyebrows rose. Andrew spoke of her to his family? Her stomach did a funny somersault with that news. “I do stay busy,” she commented briefly as she followed Trina to an empty booth.
“And it promises to get busier, huh?” Trina’s eyes sparkled. “Did you sign the contract with the big construction company that builds churches?”
Beth stifled a sigh. Although she knew she should appreciate the interest expressed by her stepfather’s family, at times she wished the little community wasn’t quite so knowledgeable. There were no secrets in Sommerfeld. With a forced smile, she nodded.
Trina clapped her hands. “Oh, good!”
Despite the reservations that had struck when she had replayed Andrew’s comment, Beth’s spirits lifted with Trina’s unbridled enthusiasm. Folding her arms on the tabletop, she said, “So do you want to give up your waitressing and come put windows together for me instead?”
For a moment, Trina’s sunny disposition faded. “I’d like to give up the waitressing, but...”
Beth waited for Trina to finish her sentence, curiosity striking at the girl’s serious expression.
The girl shook her head, making the little ribbons on her cap dance, and she winked. “I’ll let Andrew be your helper. He’s much better at it than I would be.”
A frown pinched Beth’s forehead. Before she could form a reply, Trina started backing away from the table.
“I’ll go tell Aunt Marie you’re here.”
“Mom’s here?” Beth’s heart leaped. She’d get to talk to Mom after all.
“In the kitchen with Mama. Do you want to come back, or should I send her out?”
Henry’s sister Deborah, who now owned the café, was also in the kitchen. Although Deborah had warmed up considerably toward Beth in the months she’d lived in Sommerfeld, Beth still sensed the woman’s disapproval of her worldly attire and mussy hairstyle. She made a quick choice.
“Send Mom out, please.” She waited, her gaze on the doorway that led to the kitchen. When her mother appeared, Beth stood up and met her halfway across the room. Giving her a hug, she said, “I went by your house to see you. I didn’t think to look here.”
Mom grimaced as she walked with Beth to the booth. “I decided I could benefit from some exercise, but the brief walk has me all swollen again.”
Beth glanced at her mother’s feet and gasped. “Mom! You don’t even have ankles!”
Mom’s chuckle sounded as she peered at her own feet. “Oh, I’m sure my ankles are under there somewhere.”
Beth huffed. “You know what I mean. What does the doctor say about this?”
Her mother’s sheepish shrug as she slid into the booth provided the answer.
“You haven’t mentioned it?” Beth’s tone rose in volume, drawing the attention of nearby patrons.
Mom patted her hand. “Honey, please, it’s nothing to be concerned about. Most women experience some foot swelling during pregnancy.”
“But how do you even wear shoes?” It looked as though Mom’s flesh spilled over the top of her simple oxfords. Beth released a shudder.
“I put them on before my feet swell. And then I don’t dare take them off.” Mom gave a little laugh that Beth didn’t echo. “Now stop looking at me like that. I’ll be fine. But I admit I’m glad to see you. You can drive me home.”
“Of course I will.” Beth drew in a deep breath, ready to question her mother about other discomforts related to pregnancy.
“Why were you looking for me?”
Mom’s question shifted Beth’s attention. “Oh, I wanted to let you know I signed the contract.”
“Are you excited?”
Beth forced a short laugh. “Yes—and nervous. A lot rests on the success of this first project.”
“You can do it, honey.” Mom’s warm hand on Beth’s arm offered assurance. “You have wonderful ideas, lots of talent, and the gumption to see it through.”
“And you aren’t at all biased,” Beth teased, pleasure spiraling through her chest at her mother’s praise.
A light laugh crinkled Mom’s eyes. “Of course not! I just know genius when I see it.”
“Genius. Right.” Beth shook her head, but she couldn’t stop smiling.
“Besides, you aren’t doing this alone.”
Beth’s heart skipped a beat. How much responsibility would everyone give to Andrew?
“Remember Philippians 4:13? ‘I can do all things through Christ...’”
Beth finished, “ ‘Which strengtheneth me.’” She swallowed, pushing aside the prickle of guilt that pressed upward at her mother’s reminder of Beth’s ever-present help. She wondered how long it would be before thinking of God came before thinking of people.
The café door opened, allowing in a gust of cool air. Beth glanced toward the door and recognized her stepfather. She waved him over. When he reached the booth, he leaned down and gave his wife a kiss on her cheek before greeting Beth. “Hello! Andrew says the man from the construction company was by already. What did you decide?”
Beth released a snort. “News travels fast.”
Henry sat beside Mom and stretched his arm along the back of the booth, his fingers grazi
ng Mom’s shoulder. “You can’t blame Andrew for being excited. This affects him, too, you know.”
Yes, Beth knew. Resisting the urge to scowl, she said, “I signed. So now I have until April 1 to put together a window that will knock McCauley Church Construction’s socks off.”
“You can do it,” Henry said, but he smiled into Mom’s face rather than looking at Beth. Mom whispered something that didn’t reach Beth’s ears.
Beth cleared her throat. “I may need your assistance. My worktable isn’t large enough to accommodate a project of that size. Do you suppose you could build a platform in the open corner of the studio?”
Henry glanced in her direction. “A platform? Oh, sure, I don’t know why not. When will you need it?” Immediately his attention returned to Mom’s upturned face.
“I have lots of glass to order and cut first, so not right away.” Beth watched her parents, unease tickling her spine. She looked away from them toward the other two filled tables. Conversations at the tables went on, oblivious to the three people in her booth.
Beth suddenly felt completely alone despite the fact that eight other people sat in the room with her. Would she ever feel as though she belonged in this community? Lowering her eyes, she stared at her jeans-covered legs draped with the tails of her flannel shirt. In her attire, she stuck out like a sore thumb from the Mennonite women in their simple, home-sewn dresses and neat caps.
Shifting her gaze slightly, she observed Mom and Henry’s quiet exchange. Despite sitting directly across from her, they seemed to have forgotten she was there. Henry rested his broad hand on Mom’s rounded abdomen, and she laughed softly into his face. Once again, Beth was struck by how complete her parents appeared. Unmindful of her. Unneedful of her...
She jumped from the booth, causing both Mom and Henry to look in her direction. “Listen, I’d better scoot. I have lots of planning to do if I’m going to get that project finished for McCauley. Henry can drive you home, right, Mom? I’ll ... I’ll talk to you both later.” She dashed from the café before either of them could answer.
Beth spent Saturday afternoon and evening reworking her drawing to scale until she was satisfied. Using Andrew’s twist on the center row of diamonds changed her original idea, but she discovered she liked the new design much better. Using her all-in-one printer, she made several copies of the design, then set to work with colored pencils. She skipped supper to continue working, ignoring the growl of her stomach. When she was so tired her eyes no longer focused, blurring the colors together, she put the drawings aside and crawled into bed.
Her sleep that night was fitful, her dreams disconcerting. Images from the town blended with images from the city of her upbringing. Faces from Sommerfeld and others from Cheyenne kept coming and going until confusion jerked her out of sleep. Twice she awakened, her face damp, but she wasn’t sure if sweat or tears were responsible for the moisture she felt on her skin.
When the morning sun crept between the cracks of the window blinds, she swung from the bed, relieved to be able to face reality instead of battling the odd, disjointed images of her dreams. With a yawn, she padded to the bathroom, then stood, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her tangled hair stuck out in all directions, giving evidence of restless shifting on her pillow. Blue circles underscored her eyes, and her face looked pale.
“I’m a sight,” she snorted. After running cold water on a washcloth, she mopped her face and then looked again at her reflection. The tiredness remained despite the thorough scrubbing.
“If I go to the meetinghouse looking like this,” she spoke aloud to her dismal face in the mirror, “Mom will think I’m sick.” With the thought of her mother came the remembrance of Henry and Mom in the booth yesterday, absorbed in one another. Swinging from the mirror, Beth charged to her bedroom and sank onto the edge of the mattress.
Her head slung low, she moaned, “Dear God, where do I fit in?”
She wasn’t a member of the church, so she didn’t belong there. Having been raised far away from the cousins who resided in this little town, she didn’t blend in with them. Grown and out of her mother’s house, she no longer fit there. She released a humorless huff of laughter as a childhood memory struck.
Every Christmas season, she and Mom had curled together on the sofa to watch the television version of Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer. She had loved to sing along with the characters. Now the lyrical question “Why am I such a misfit?” drifted through her mind, bringing both a rush of fond remembrance and a stab of pain. The words were too close to the truth.
Beth simply didn’t fit in—not in Sommerfeld, not in her mother’s house, not back in Cheyenne.
But she had her business, her art. Pushing to her feet, Beth straightened her shoulders with resolve. Hadn’t Mom said God gave her the gift of creating beauty from bits of colored glass? Well, then, that’s where Beth belonged: in her studio, creating beauty. And if the next few weeks went well, she’d have enough business to keep her too busy to worry about needing to fit in anywhere else. Her misfit days were nearing their end, thanks to the contract offered by McCauley Church Construction.
Knowing her mother would worry if she didn’t show up at the meetinghouse for services, Beth laid out a modest skirt and blouse and headed for the shower. But when the service was over, she’d come home, get out her pencils again, and finish planning the window for McCauley’s. By the end of the day, she’d shoot several color options to him via e-mail, and she hoped that by the end of tomorrow she’d be able to order glass.
She had one chance to carve her niche in the stained-glass world, and she wouldn’t let it escape her.
NINE
Andrew shut off the cutting wheel. His ears buzzed as if the carbide wheel still screeched. He removed his goggles and peered toward the newly constructed platform where Beth sat cross-legged, scissors snipping a steady rhythm. Her shining ponytail captured the light, and as always, he found himself wondering if those strands felt as silky as they looked.
She turned and caught him staring.
Heat built in his ears, and he gestured clumsily toward the stack of glass he’d scored. “Got enough here for six more crosses and six butterflies.”
A nod bounced her ponytail. “Good. I’m glad you’re ahead of the game there, since my order of glass for this one”—she tipped her head toward the paper pieces scattered across the platform—“should be arriving this afternoon. That frees up the wheel for me to get to cutting.”
Andrew fought a frown. She had hoarded each step of the process in creating the window for McCauley, spending every minute of the past week finalizing the colors, putting a rush order on glass, drawing the design to scale on butcher paper, and now cutting the pattern into pieces. He had hoped to at least help by cutting and fitting the glass pieces together, but apparently she intended to see this project through as a solo artist. He supposed he should be grateful she’d allowed him to help build the platform where she planned to construct her window.
Her brows pulled down in a brief scowl of worry. “I hope the glass will arrive as promised. I’ve got a pretty tight schedule to keep in order to meet McCauley’s deadline.”
Andrew considered telling her if she’d allow him to help, they could speed up the process, but instead, he glanced out the window at the sunshine-bright February day and said, “Can’t see any reason why they’d be delayed.”
Beth turned back to the paper spread across her lap and began snipping once more. “I sure hope not.” Without looking at him, she said, “Go ahead and snap those pieces apart and then grind the edges. Hopefully by tomorrow, you’ll be ready to put them together. And maybe you can ask Trina to go to Salina with you for the show so you’ll have some company.”
Andrew, reaching into the drawer for the pliers, jerked to attention. “You aren’t going?”
She paused again to stare at him over her shoulder. “Of course not. I can’t take a whole day away from here—at least not until this first project for McCauley is d
one. So from now until April 1, whatever shows we do are yours.”
Andrew rounded the worktable to stand beside the platform and gawk down at her. “Trina can’t take a Saturday off from the café.” It was the only argument he could compose on short notice. He knew he shouldn’t say what he was thinking: But I look forward to those times when we go away together. Away from Sommerfeld, Beth was more open, animated, and relaxed, which made him more open, animated, and relaxed. He relished those snatches of time.
Beth made a sour face. “Oh, I didn’t think about that. Of course she couldn’t.” A graceful shrug bunched the blond ponytail that lay on her shoulder. “Well, you should be able to handle it on your own.”
Her unconcerned comment set his teeth on edge. Andrew clomped back to the storage cabinet and snatched up the pliers.
“You could ask someone else if you prefer not to go alone.”
Andrew preferred not to go alone, yet he didn’t want anyone else’s company. Besides, who else would be interested? His family either ignored or made sport of his art-related pursuits. Beth waited for an answer, the scissors motionless in her hand. He finally grunted, “We’ll see.”
She shot him a speculative look before offering another shrug and bending over the paper once more. They worked without speaking, with only the snap of the pliers, the muffled clink of glass pieces being placed on the table’s surface, and the snip-snip of the scissors breaking the tomblike quiet. After a long while, Beth released a noisy breath and spun on her seat to face Andrew.
“What’s your problem?”
Andrew, startled, raised one brow and pointed to his own chest.
A second huff split the air. “Yes, you.”
“I don’t have a problem.” He’d lied. His chest constricted with the knowledge, yet he couldn’t retract the words.
Beginnings Page 7
