Although she didn’t look, she knew from the silence he remained by the door rather than stepping into the room. Obviously, he was as uncertain about how to proceed as she was.
“So that’s the cat, huh?”
She didn’t turn around, but she nodded and picked up the sock, jiggling it to entice the kitten out of hiding.
“What did you name him?”
The cat’s tail waved above the platform like a flag. Beth snickered. “Winky.”
“That’ll make sense until his eye heals. But he probably won’t wink so much after that.”
Beth slowly straightened to her feet, the sock forgotten in her hand. “How did you know he had a bad eye?”
Andrew stared at her for a moment; then he scratched his head and shrugged. “Uncle Henry said it last night.”
Beth replayed the conversation concerning the kitten that had taken place at the dinner table. “No, he didn’t. Mom said if it was the same kitten Trina had, it had been hurt somehow, but nothing was said about a hurt eye.”
As she’d come to expect in moments of uncertainty, Andrew’s ears changed to a rosy hue. Suddenly she remembered another comment he’d made about being busy with a cat. She pointed at him. “You.”
He looked at her and gulped—one mighty up and down of his Adam’s apple. He jabbed his thumb against his chest, his eyebrows high.
“ You gave me Winky!” The deepening color in his ears was the only confirmation she needed. “But why?”
NINETEEN
Andrew watched the cat dash from behind the platform and leap at the sock that dangled from Beth’s hand. The moment the furry streak smacked the sock with his paw, Beth released it, and cat and sock tumbled in a tangle at her feet.
“I love the cat,” she said softly. At the tenderness in her expression, he felt as though his heart tumbled in his chest as erratically as the cat tumbled on the floor with its toy.
“Good,” he managed.
Tipping her head, she lowered her brows in puzzlement. “But why leave it on the doorstep? Why not just give him to me?”
Even though his motivation for gifting her with the kitten had been to gain favor, he hadn’t anticipated her finding out so soon. He found himself at a loss for words, so he simply stood stupidly in front of the door with enough heat in his ears to replace the furnace.
Beth’s face fell. “You meant it to be a secret, didn’t you? I’m sorry I guessed.”
Andrew had heard an apology from Beth only once before, and that time she’d followed it up with a but. This time, no excuse or explanation followed. His lips wobbled into a smile. “That’s okay. I’m surprised you didn’t figure it out last night when I kept pouring salt on my food to get Uncle Henry to stop talking about it.”
Beth giggled. “How could you even eat after emptying the saltshaker on it? Mom has always seasoned her food well enough. It must have tasted awful!”
He rubbed the underside of his chin, grimacing. “It was pretty bad. I drank lots of water after I went home.”
They laughed together. When the laughter faded, Beth crouched down and petted the cat, which had finally given up its fight with the sock and lay washing its feet.
“Andrew, about last night ... and my reaction to your comment about Sean...”
Andrew took a deep breath and moved forward several feet. He bent down, too, his elbows on his bent knees. “I might have been out of line, but I’m not going to say I’m sorry. Because that would be lying.”
Her forehead creased. A warning sign.
He continued. “I do have some concerns.”
To his surprise, rather than bristling, she sat on the floor with her legs criss-crossed. She tugged the cat into her lap and scratched his chin. His purr rumbled. “Okay. What?”
“Okay...” He paused, organizing his thoughts. Beth had so often insinuated he couldn’t separate business from personal, he wanted to be sure he kept this conversation on a business level. Personal could wait. “First of all, this idea of asking for an extension on the consigned piece so we can finish the McCauley window early. I don’t think that makes good sense.”
Her fingers continued stroking the cat’s neck, but her gaze didn’t waver. “Go ahead.”
“I thought your goal was to have your own gallery, make pieces of art available to the public, and work for McCauley.” His knees complained, so he shifted, moving to sit on the edge of the platform. Beth’s eyes followed him. “But if you forgo everything and just focus on McCauley, you risk running off the very people who can bring in business to the gallery or online.”
Beth surprised him by smirking.
“What?”
“You said ‘online.’”
Andrew frowned. “What’s wrong with that?”
She shrugged. “Nothing, I guess. It’s just you’re the first Mennonite I’ve heard use a word that referenced the Internet.”
Andrew snorted. “We might not use it, but we’re aware of it, Beth.”
“Don’t get defensive,” she said, but her tone remained friendly, open. The kitten had fallen asleep. She planted her palms on the floor behind her and leaned back. “How can focusing on McCauley run off other business?”
Her return to the topic caught Andrew by surprise, and it took a moment to get his thoughts back together. “Think about it. What if Uncle Henry, when a particular person came into his shop with a mechanical problem, set everyone else’s needs aside and took care of that person exclusively? How would those who had tractors or cars waiting feel, being treated as though their vehicle didn’t matter as much?”
Beth’s shoulders rose and fell in a slow-motion shrug. “They probably wouldn’t like it.”
“Do you think they’d bring their business to Uncle Henry again, or go elsewhere?”
The impish smirk returned. “Well, seeing how there’s only one mechanic in the whole town of Sommerfeld, they’d probably grumble and wait their turn.”
Andrew refused to be caught up in teasing. “And that works as long as you’re the only one providing the service. But you aren’t the only stained-glass artist in the state, are you? The Fox Gallery can go elsewhere. Customers can go elsewhere. You have more to lose.”
Even as he spoke, he recognized Beth had a rare talent, something that set her apart from other stained-glass artists. He waited for her to point out her unique ability to create depth. To argue that her work was worth waiting for. But she surprised him again.
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t put one ahead of the other but recognize that each client, each project, has equal value. But...” Her brows pinched; her tongue sneaked out to lick her lips. “But if I don’t get the McCauley contract, so many of my other desires won’t be fulfilled. I need the money from the McCauley contract to expand the studio, buy equipment, hire more—”
“If you want it all, you have to do it all.” Andrew leaned forward, increasing his volume and fervor. “You can’t let anything slide. You’ve got to satisfy Fox, you’ve got to satisfy McCauley, and you’ve got to prepare for the customers who will be coming to your door.”
She had to listen to him. Only if everything she had planned—the showroom, the Web site, the church windows—came to pass could she hope to support more than one person with this studio. He couldn’t let her drop one for the other. She needed them all to see her dream come true. He needed them all for his dreams to come true. He wouldn’t let her back off now.
Beth sat staring at him, her lips clenched together, for several long seconds. Finally, she drew in a breath through her nose, her gaze narrowing. “Andrew, will you answer one question for me as honestly as you can?”
Although he knew he might set himself up for an uncomfortable situation, he could do little else but nod.
“Are you sure you don’t want me putting everything else except the McCauley project aside to keep me from having a long-term relationship with Sean McCauley?”
Andrew stifled a groan. He’d agreed to answer, but now he wasn’t sure h
e could form one. Yes, he was jealous of the attention she paid Sean McCauley. Yes, he wished she would pay more attention to him—and not as an employee. That was why he’d given her the cat, which she clearly loved. But never having said anything remotely personal to a girl before, he had no words. He stared at his linked hands in his lap.
After a few silent seconds, Beth released a sigh. “It’s okay. You don’t have to answer. It’s enough that you think about it and realize that if this studio is to take off, Sean McCauley is going to be a part of the picture around here. You’ll need to accept it eventually. And sooner would be better than later.”
***
After their lengthy talk that morning, Beth had put conversation on hold so she could concentrate on the window. Despite Andrew’s arguments, she had instructed him to stop working on the second cardinal piece after lunch and help with the McCauley project instead. He’d scowled but followed her instruction, working in from the opposite corner of the platform.
The work was painstakingly slow, each piece requiring a tight fit with no gaps if the window was to hold its shape without buckling when lifted to a vertical position. Twice Beth had stopped and applied the carborundum stone to small bumps on the edge of a piece to insure a better fit. The meticulous task, while satisfying, was also stress-inducing, given the need for accuracy.
Winky did his best to add moments of levity by pouncing on their feet or leaping onto the platform to curl into a ball and turn on his motor. He always managed to land right where she needed to place the next piece of glass, bringing a laugh that eased her taut muscles and refreshed her.
As suppertime approached, Beth found herself glancing at the clock at closer intervals, eager for the excuse to stop, stretch her legs, and rest her eyes and fingers. She suspected Andrew felt the same way by the number of times he sat straight up on his knees and twisted his back. She understood. Leaning over the platform was much more difficult than leaning over the worktable. The angle was different, putting more pressure on the lower spine, and one had to avoid the horseshoe nails that kept the project square on the wooden base. But if he was going to be working on other big projects, he might as well become accustomed to using the platform.
She was scooping the cat out of the way for the umpteenth time when the telephone on the wall jangled. “I’ll get it,” she said as Andrew started to stand. Lifting the receiver, she offered her standard, “Quinn’s Stained-Glass Art Studio. May I help you?”
“Hello, Beth. I hope you’re ready to design like crazy.”
Sean’s greeting made her heart double its tempo. “They signed?”
“They signed.”
Her smile stretched across her tired cheeks. “Congratulations!”
“To you, too. The stained-glass windows are part of the contract.”
“Yes, if I meet your stipulation for this first one.” Beth looked at the partially completed window, which would determine whether or not the stained-glass windows for the Colorado church would truly be her projects. Her stomach turned a somersault. She still had so much to do! And those windows in Denver wouldn’t be hers if this one wasn’t completed.
“So how are you coming along over there?”
Beth clenched her teeth for a moment, holding back the grunt of frustration. “It’s coming,” she said. “I’ve got Andrew working on it, too.”
Andrew glanced up, meeting her eyes. She smiled and pointed at the platform—a silent reminder to keep working. His brows tipped together briefly, but he picked up another piece of glass.
“Well, good. He needs to learn how to do the larger pieces.”
“That’s what I thought.” Beth smiled when the distinct sound of a yawn met her ear. “I didn’t realize meetings were such exhausting work.”
At his laughter, her smile grew. “I think it’s the elevation. Whenever I get up in the mountains, I feel sleepy.”
Beth couldn’t confirm that. She’d never spent time in the mountains. She’d done little traveling, although she’d always wanted to. But Mom’s limited income hadn’t allowed for long vacations in faraway places. Now her focus was on getting her studio running. She frowned. If the studio became the success she hoped, would there be time for travel in her future?
A brief wave of panic struck. Did she want her work to be everything?
“Well,” Sean’s voice carried through the line, “I know you’re hard at it, so I’ll let you go. I just wanted to share the good news. By the end of the week I’ll have dimensions for the windows and a construction schedule. You’ll need that information before you can proceed, but be thinking about the designs and how you can bring in that wonderful depth.”
Beth swallowed. “Yes. Yes, I will. ’Bye, Sean. Thanks for calling. And congratulations again.” She hung up and looked at Andrew, who settled back on his haunches and pressed his hands to his knees. “You ready for a break?”
He answered with a shrug.
“Let’s walk next door, work some kinks out. I need to...” She paused. Did she want to involve Andrew in her worries? If she shared her concerns with him, she would be leaning on him. More than she already was in letting him help with the window. Mitch’s face appeared in her memory—his smiling, beguiling, devious face—followed by the remembered pain of his betrayal.
Waiting beside the platform, Andrew prompted, “You need to...?”
“Walk.” She gave a single, empathic nod. “I need to walk. And I’m hungry for one of Deborah’s greasy burgers. So let’s go.”
They slid in on opposite sides of an open booth, where they could look out on the peaceful street. Since it wasn’t the weekend, not many tourists were around, but Beth easily recognized the patrons who were not citizens of Sommerfeld.
The two tables closest to the booth she and Andrew shared were each occupied by a young family—mother, father, and preschool-age child. Beth’s gaze flicked back and forth between the tables, her mind unconsciously recording the similarities and disparities.
One family was Old Order Mennonite—the man’s closely trimmed hair, the woman’s cap, and the little girl’s tiny braids serving as calling cards. The second family was obviously not. Even their daughter, who couldn’t be more than four, had pierced ears and designer-brand blue jeans.
At each table conversation took place, the adults leaning forward now and then to speak in lowered tones, the mothers occasionally pausing to offer instruction to use the napkin or be careful with the cup of milk.
Beth examined their faces, searching for evidence that one family might be happier, more contented, more complete than the other. But she couldn’t make a determination. They both seemed like normal, involved, satisfied families. Her heart begged for an answer to the question plaguing her mind: In which of those families—Old Order or worldly—would she have the best chance to find fulfillment and contentment?
Swinging her gaze away from the families, she found Andrew openly examining her. Heat rose from her neck to her cheeks as she got the distinct impression he knew what she had been trying to discover.
TWENTY
Leaning her elbows on the table, Beth brought her face closer to Andrew’s. “Are you happy here?”
Andrew raised one brow.
“In Sommerfeld, in the fellowship. Do you ever wonder what it’s like ‘out there’?”
Andrew glanced out the window, then at the worldly couple seated nearby. His lips twitched, and he rubbed his hand over his mouth. “I guess all of us wonder. Outsiders come in driving fancy cars and wearing their fancy clothes and talking about the things they do. So, yes, I’ve wondered.”
She nodded. “I can see why. Everything here is so ... regimented. Controlled.” With a grimace, she added, “I don’t know how you stand it.”
Sorrow filled Andrew’s eyes. “I don’t just stand it, Beth. I embrace it.”
The word embrace wrapped around Beth’s chest in a breath-stealing hold. “How?” The word came out in a strangled whisper. She gestured to the café. “What is it that you
find so ... desirable here? I see the smiles, the contentment, the acceptance of the simplicity, but I don’t understand. Help me understand, Andrew.” So I can find out whether or not it can one day be mine.
Andrew’s brow furrowed, and for long moments he looked out the window. His jaw worked back and forth, letting Beth know how deeply he sought the right answer to her question. Although impatience tugged at her like Winky at her pant leg, she managed to stay silent and allow him the opportunity to collect his thoughts.
Finally, he looked at her, and his eyes held a variety of emotions she couldn’t define. “There’s security, Beth, in knowing what applied to my parents’ world at my age also applied to my grandparents and great-grandparents and now applies to me. The history, the generations-long tradition, feels stable in a world that—out there—isn’t always stable. There’s security in having a firm boundary around me, a fence that keeps me safe.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up his hand.
“I know you see it as hemming you in and holding you back. But I see it as keeping potentially dangerous things away and giving me freedom within the boundaries of my beliefs.”
Beth leaned back, sucking in her lips as she processed his answer. The words sounded good in theory, but there was a problem. “Then why are you bucking so hard to break free of your father’s plans for you?”
He jerked as if her words had impaled him.
“Your family’s history is farming, right? Your father, your brothers, probably your grandfathers, too—all farmers. But you? You’re trying to be something else.”
His ears filled with the familiar red. Although his mouth opened, no words came out.
She nodded. “See? You don’t like the boundaries, either, or you’d just farm and not say anything.” Sitting forward, she allowed a small smile to form on her lips. “But I have to tell you, Andrew, I admire you for going after what you want. I might get aggravated with you sometimes because I feel like you’re stepping on my toes, but I still admire you.” Lowering her eyes, she fought a feeling of sadness. “At least you know what you want.”
Beginnings Page 16
