“You know, too.” The fervency brought Beth’s head up. “You know. You want success.” He pointed to the table beside them where the worldly family prepared to leave the café—the mother helping the little girl into her pink denim jacket and the father digging in his wallet for a tip. “I saw the look on your face when you were watching the families. You think being a wife and mother will hold you back. That’s why you don’t want to be Mennonite. A Mennonite wife wouldn’t spend all her day in an art studio. You don’t think you can fit the role.”
He gave the saddest smile Beth had ever seen. “I heard you when you told your mother you could never be Mennonite. I tried not to hear, but I heard. And I’ve been thinking about it.”
Beth wasn’t sure she wanted to know what he thought, but she couldn’t deny a fierce interest in hearing his opinion. In the past days, a side of Andrew—a strong, confident, openly knowledgeable side—had come into view, piquing her interest as much as it surprised her. It gave a new, attractive dimension to him worthy of further exploration.
“So what do you think?” Her breath came in little puffs as her heart pounded, waiting, hoping for some nugget of insight that might help her find her place in this community.
Andrew squared his shoulders. “I think you were raised in the world, and that’s where you belong. You found God here, and maybe that’s what you came for, to become part of His family. But what you told your mom is right. You’ll never be a Mennonite. It isn’t who you are.” His back slumped as if his honesty had cost him his strength.
“And maybe, since you’ll never fit unless you are Mennonite, you’d be better off somewhere else.”
“You’d be better off somewhere else.”
Andrew’s words haunted Beth the remainder of the week. Each morning as she opened her Bible for her devotions, those words tried to steal her focus and interfered with her ability to pray.
Hadn’t Sean told her she should relocate her studio away from this quiet town? And now Andrew had indicated the same thing.
“ You’d be better off somewhere else.”
Fear held her captive. These two men, in whom she needed to be able to place her confidence and trust to build her studio and fulfill her dreams, each seemed to have agendas that would benefit themselves if she followed their advice.
Sean suggested Kansas City, closer to his home, where undoubtedly he could keep a close eye on her projects and have some control. Could his increased, more personal contacts be a means of drawing her closer?
And Andrew suggesting she go somewhere else would leave an empty studio in Sommerfeld for someone else’s use. His use? Is that why he said she would never be happy here?
God, please help me set the fears aside! she begged each time the worry rose, yet it continued. Each glimpse of Andrew across the platform increased the feelings of uncertainty, and finally on Friday morning, she sent him back to the cardinal piece with the instruction to see it through to completion and then work on suncatchers.
“I’ll need a stash ready for when I get the Internet store up and running,” she said in response to his questioning look. To her relief, he didn’t argue. But sending him away from the platform didn’t solve the problem. Just having him in the room was a constant reminder, and she came close to telling him to go work in the fields.
When he left for the noon break, the telephone rang. Wearily, Beth answered it to find Sean on the other end. He would be back in Kansas by Saturday, and he had a final meeting with the Carlton church committee next week on Wednesday. He asked if could swing by the studio, take another peek at the window, and perhaps treat her to supper to celebrate the Colorado contract.
“No.” The word burst out much more forcefully than she intended.
Sean’s shocked silence on the other end filled Beth with embarrassed shame, and she struggled to explain herself.
“I mean, I’d like that, and you can certainly stop in if you want to, but”—her gaze fell on the wall calendar, the few squares remaining in the month sending a new jolt of panic through her chest—“I really can’t afford to be away from the studio right now. I have less than three weeks to finish this project.”
“And you and Andrew can’t get it done?” He sounded more puzzled than worried.
“Yes, I can if I stay here and see it through!” Once more, against her will, her tone reflected her anxiety.
“Beth...” Sean’s voice lowered, and she pictured him pressing the receiver closer to his face. “If this window is too much for you, then maybe—”
No more suggestions! “It’s not too much for me,” she insisted, forcing a levity to her voice she didn’t feel, “I just prefer to commit my time to work right now. When the work is done, there will be time for play.”
But not much time, she realized, since two more churches were already lined up and waiting for Beth Quinn stained-glass windows. She felt dizzy and slid down the wall to sit on the floor.
“Okay then.” Sean sounded resigned. “I’ll pop in on my way back from my meeting at Carlton. It will be late afternoon or early evening, so hopefully I won’t disrupt your routine too much. I look forward to seeing ... your progress.”
Beth was certain he had intended to say he looked forward to seeing her and had changed it at the last minute. The thought brought mingled emotions of relief and regret.
“Wednesday then. Thanks, Sean. Have a safe trip home.” She hung up before he could create more conflict in her heart.
Winky pranced over and batted her pant leg in his typical bid for attention. She scooped him into her arms and rubbed her chin on his head. His purr expressed his appreciation. She petted him for a few minutes, letting the cat’s soft fur and gentle motor soothe the frayed edges of her nerves.
“You are quite the gift,” she whispered, giving him a kiss between his ears and setting him back on the floor. “Thank you for your sweet attention. At least I don’t have to second-guess your motives.”
Winky padded beside her as she returned to the platform and picked up a green triangle. “Okay, now, no pouncing. I have to focus,” she warned the kitten. He licked one paw and stared at her with an innocent expression she had learned never to trust. Maybe she should locate one of his toys to keep him occupied.
He shifted positions, holding down his tail with one paw and beginning a thorough wash of the tip. She smiled. The cat was too cute for his own good. Convinced he was duly occupied, she turned her attention to the window.
Leaning forward between two horseshoe nails, she rested her weight on one hand and positioned the triangle on the wooden surface, centered below two red diamonds. She held her breath, prepared to slip the triangle into its location, when four paws hit smack between her shoulder blades.
With a yelp of surprise, she jerked forward, cramming the point of the triangle into the existing design and banging her knee on a horseshoe nail. The worn denim tore. Pain shot up her leg as the head of the nail gouged her flesh.
“Winky!”
The cat shot away from the platform, his fur on end. He huddled beneath the display bench, his wide eyes peering back at her in fear.
Stumbling to her feet, Beth stretched the slit in her jeans to examine the cut. It bled freely—a good thing, she thought, considering what caused it. She limped to the supply cabinet and opened a bottom drawer, withdrawing a small first-aid kit. Winky watched her progress with interest, his tail twitching. She glared at the cat as she rummaged for a Band-Aid.
“Didn’t I tell you to leave me alone? What was that all about? Do you think you’re a mountain lion or something? Really!” Still grumbling, she applied the bandage, wincing as the pad came in contact with the cut. “I’ll have to leave you at the house instead of bringing you here with me if you can’t behave.”
The cat tipped his head sideways as if to question the sincerity of her threat.
“Yeah, yeah, you know I couldn’t do that,” she muttered, shaking her head. As aggravated as she felt at the moment, she knew she wouldn’t le
ave the kitten alone all day. It would be too lonely for him. And, she admitted, she would miss him too much. Shaking her finger at him, she added firmly, “But no more jumping on me!”
She took a minute to locate the empty matchbox he enjoyed batting across the floor and skidded it under the bench with him. He slapped his paw on it, tail swishing back and forth, then rolled onto his side and closed his eyes.
“ Now you nap.” Beth sighed, shaking her head. Her knee stung as she walked back to the platform, and she sucked air through her teeth when she knelt down.
But the real pain struck when she looked at the window. “Oh, no!” She ran her fingers along the border, which no longer formed a straight line. Apparently when she had kicked the nail loose, she had also bumped the squares forming the boundary of the project. Her panic increased when she picked up the green triangle and realized she’d nicked its tip when she’d shoved it across the platform.
She sank onto her bottom, her knee throbbing with each pounding beat of her heart. “I don’t have time to redo anything,” she moaned aloud. “Oh, why did this have to happen now?”
A furry head bumped her hip, and she lifted the cat into her arms, cradling him against her shoulder. “Winky, you naughty cat. Look what you made me do.” His purr offered an apology, but it didn’t fix the problem.
Pressing her face to the cat’s neck, Beth dissolved into tears.
TWENTY-ONE
“Trina.” Andrew waved his cousin over.
“Ready for your check?” She removed the little order pad from her pocket.
“I’m done, but I think I want to take a sandwich over for Beth.” He fidgeted under Trina’s speculative look. “She didn’t take a lunch break, but she needs something to eat.”
“That’s nice of you,” Trina mused, one eyebrow rising higher than the other. “What’s her favorite?”
“Turkey on wheat with lettuce, tomato, and honey mustard.” The answer came so promptly, even Andrew had to laugh. Trina grinned and scampered off, disappearing into the kitchen.
Yes, he’d gotten to know his boss pretty well. And most of it came from observation, because even though she wasn’t one to mince words, most of her spouting had little to do with Beth-the-Person. Beth-the-Person tried to remain aloof. But Andrew had finally peeked beneath the surface.
This had been a rough week. He’d seen it in the tense set of her shoulders, the creases in her forehead, and the tightness of her voice. The only smiles had been aimed at the cat, and at times Andrew had felt envious of the furry critter. At the same time, he felt grateful she had something in her life that seemed to bring her happiness.
It had pained him to be so honest with her last Tuesday when they’d come to the café for supper. But knowing Beth, seeing how she fought against the dictates of the fellowship and the community, he couldn’t imagine her making Sommerfeld her permanent home. Thinking of her leaving brought pain on a different level, but not so much as he would have expected a few weeks ago.
Maybe, he mused, accepting the unlikelihood of her becoming Mennonite had begun the process of releasing his fascination with her. He still admired her, still was intrigued by her, but he was beginning to understand their backgrounds would never mesh. What he wanted in a wife, Beth surely wouldn’t give. How could he be happy with that?
And she would never be happy living in a box. That’s how she viewed the simple rules of the Mennonite community. Beth was a free spirit, an untamed wind. Even—he nodded to himself—a rebel. It suited her. But a Mennonite? No, she would never be that.
He glanced up and spotted Trina trotting toward him with a paper bag in her hand. He stood and tugged his money clip from his pocket.
“There you go, and Mama put in some chips and a pickle, too.” Trina took his money. “I’ll get your change.”
“Keep it,” he said, picking up the sack.
With a grin, she returned to work, and he headed out the door. He weaved between the café and the studio so he could enter through the back door. Pushing it open, he called, “Beth, I brought you a—”
His voice died when he spotted her sitting on the floor with the cat in her arms. The sound of her sobs filled the air.
Dropping the sack, he rushed to her and bent on one knee, touching her shoulder. “Beth, what is it?”
She lifted her tearstained face. “I ruined the window.”
He scowled, shifting his gaze to the window. At first glance, everything appeared fine. But when he looked closer, he noticed a slight bend along the closest edge. Though not more than two or three centimeters, it was enough to guarantee the window wouldn’t fit the intended frame unless repair work took place.
“What happened?”
“Winky.” At the mention of his name, the cat pushed against Beth’s shoulder with his front paws. She released him, and he dashed away with his ears back. “He was playing, and he startled me. I ... I fell onto the platform. I cut myself”—she pointed to a tear in her jeans, which exposed a Band-Aid on the side of her knee—“and messed up the window.”
Andrew puffed his cheeks and blew out a noisy breath. “I should have known we needed more nails to hold something this big. And I shouldn’t have brought that kitten here.”
She sat sniffling. He settled back on his haunches and scratched his head. “Well, I can go out to Ortmanns’, buy some more nails, and we can press this back into position. Hopefully, with no further than it’s been moved, it’ll go back without affecting the strength of the joints. We’ll double up the nails so there won’t be the chance to move it again.”
Without a word, she held up a thick green triangle.
Even without taking it, Andrew could see the shattered tip. It wouldn’t fit tightly that way. He pulled his lips to the side in a pucker. “Do you have more green?”
Her shoulders slumped dismally. “Scraps. I didn’t order much excess because of the cost.”
He gave her back a pat and pushed to his feet. He located a piece in the scrap box just large enough to replace the chipped triangle.
Showing it to her, he said, “I’ll have to be extra careful when I cut it, but I think this will work.”
Beth took both pieces of glass and lay the triangle on top of the odd-shaped scrap. She nodded. “Yes, it’s big enough, barely. I like to have more space around the cut to insure a crisp corner.”
“Me, too,” Andrew said, “but beggars can’t be choosers. We don’t have time to wait for an order of a new sheet.”
She held her hand to him, and he gave a tug that brought her to her feet. When she grimaced, his heart gave a lurch.
“Are you sure that leg is okay?”
“It’s fine,” she insisted. Still holding the glass in one hand, she said, “Go on out to Ortmanns’ and get those nails. While you’re gone, I’ll score this glass and get it cut.”
Andrew swallowed a grin. She sounded like the old bossy Beth again. “Do you want me take the cat with me and leave him at the farm?”
Her gaze flitted sideways, and a soft smile grew on her face when she found the kitten lying on his side with both front paws over his eyes. “No. That was his first major offense. I think I can forgive him. Besides...” She turned back with a chuckle. “I’ll get even when I start the grinder. I’m sure his nap will be seriously disturbed.”
Andrew grinned. He turned toward the door and spotted the discarded lunch sack. After picking it up, he dumped its contents onto the worktable. “Here. Deborah made you a sandwich—your favorite. Eat it. It’ll help you feel better.”
It gave his heart a lift to see her smile of thanks. He took the empty bag with him and drove as quickly as possible to Ortmanns’. Dust rolled behind his pickup and sneaked between window cracks, making him sneeze. When he reached the farm, he pulled his pickup right up to the barn. Since Mr. Ortmann had told him he was welcome to as many nails as he needed, he let himself into the tack room and loaded the paper bag with several handfuls of pewter-colored nails, not even bothering to count. He’d count
them as he used them and make sure he reported it later.
His mission complete, he returned to the pickup. Just as he opened the door to the cab, someone called his name. He looked over his shoulder and saw Livvy Ortmann stepping off the back stoop. She balanced a basket of wet clothes on her hip.
Andrew held up the bag. “I came for more nails. I’ll settle with your dad later.”
“That’s fine,” she said, a smile tipping up the corners of her lips. “I heard Beth might be doing even more of those big windows.”
Andrew chuckled. Beth often complained about everyone knowing her business. But this time he hadn’t told, so she couldn’t blame him for blabbing.
“I bet it’s fun, putting the pieces together. Like working on a big puzzle.” Livvy’s voice sounded wistful.
“Yes, it’s fun,” Andrew confirmed, “but it’s also work. And I’d better get back to it. We have a lot to do.”
Livvy stepped forward, prolonging his leave-taking. “How many windows do you have to do?”
Andrew pulled himself into the cab. “None, if she can’t finish this first one on time.” Then, realizing he probably shouldn’t be sharing something so personal, he stammered, “B–but I’m sure she will.”
Livvy’s smile drooped. “Well, I won’t keep you. But maybe ... maybe I could come by the studio and see how the pieces go together sometime?”
“Sure, Livvy. Sometime.” Eager to return to the studio and help Beth set things to right, Andrew slammed the door. He put the pickup in REVERSE, made a quick turnaround, and headed out of the Ortmann yard with a wave of his hand. When he reached the end of the drive, he glanced in his rearview mirror.
Oddly, Livvy still stood where he’d left her, staring after the truck.
***
Sean turned off the engine and sat, staring at the front of Beth’s simple, metal-sided studio. For reasons he couldn’t fully explain, he hesitated approaching the front door. He was impatient to see her—he’d missed her more than he understood. Yet given their last stilted conversation, he felt as though his friendship with Beth had faded before it had had a chance to bloom.
Beginnings Page 17
