by Marta Perry
The search seemed endless. Sarah unearthed more clothes from several decades, old linens and one trunk completely filled with yellowing photograph albums and newspaper clippings that were turning to dust. There were old badminton sets and what seemed a truckload of books.
Julia’s questions had stopped, and when Sarah slipped down to check on her, she found her asleep in her chair. Well, that was certainly better than champing at the bit and threatening to come up the attic steps herself, cast and all. Sarah headed back up, hoping she’d find the quilts before Julia woke.
Finally, when she thought she’d checked everything, Sarah found it. Pushed back under the eaves, the round-topped trunk must have been one of the first things put in the attic. Other objects had been piled in front of it until it was completely hidden.
Sarah’s energy returned, and she dragged the trunk out under the light and opened the lid. The dragging sound must have roused Julia.
“What’s happening? Did you find it?” she shouted.
“Ja, I think I did. Quilts, anyway, and some other things. I’ll have to see—”
“Don’t bother,” Julia said. “Just bring all of it down and we’ll look at it together.”
Easier said than done, Sarah decided. She certainly couldn’t haul the heavy trunk down. But she found a plastic trash bin and transferred the contents to it. She pulled the bin across the floor and bumped it down the stairs to where Julia was waiting.
“Dump it out. Hurry.” Julia leaned forward in her chair. “Don’t waste time.”
“I won’t ruin anything by haste,” Sarah said firmly. She began taking the items out one at a time. Several quilts, each wrapped in a sheet, thank goodness. One pattern after another was exposed to view—a Lancaster Rose, the Double Wedding Ring Julia had mentioned, even a Drunkard’s Path design. But no album quilt.
There were other things, too, including the remnants of a flowered tea set. But no silver pieces such as the chafing dish Julia had mentioned.
Julia frowned at the contents, spread out around her. “Are you sure that’s everything?”
“I’m certain sure. The trunk is empty now.” Sympathy surged in her at the older woman’s expression. “There are still some lovely old quilts here. We can clean them up for you if you’d be willing to display them.”
“Fine, fine. Take them with you. But there should be more. I know it.” Julia looked belligerent, but Sarah could see she was tiring by the way she kept rubbing her head.
“Maybe you got rid of the other things when you moved,” she suggested, rewrapping the quilts.
“Now you sound like Donna. I didn’t. I’m sure of it.” But she didn’t sound sure, and there was a bereft expression in her eyes that Sarah suspected had to do with more than a quilt and a silver chafing dish.
“Maybe—” she began, but Julia interrupted her by slapping her palms on the arms of the chair.
“Robbed. Someone must have stolen them. You said the quilt was valuable, and so was the silver. Go and call the police. I want to see Mac right now.”
Sarah hesitated, trying to find a tactful way to urge caution.
“You’re like Donna,” Julia said, her temper flaring. “You think I’m senile, too.”
“No, no, I don’t think that at all.”
Julia’s temper left as quickly as it had come. She leaned back in the chair, resting her head on her hand. “Maybe Donna’s right. I am forgetting things. But I’d rather be dead than senile.”
Alarmed, Sarah put her arm around Julia’s shoulders in a warm hug. “Please don’t say that. It’s normal to forget things, especially when you’ve been cooped up inside for so long.”
Julia didn’t seem to be listening. “I want to know what happened to that album quilt. If I’d sold it, you’d think I’d remember, wouldn’t you? I don’t know what to do.”
The hopelessness of the final words struck at Sarah’s heart. “Please don’t worry. Let me take the photo and talk to Allison about it, all right?”
“You think you can find out what happened to it?” The woman’s eyes lit with something of her usual spark.
Sarah had no idea how to trace a quilt that might have been sold years ago. But she couldn’t bear to disappoint Julia.
“If it can be done, Allison and I will find it,” she said firmly. “I promise.”
And what Allison was going to say about that promise, she couldn’t imagine.
* * *
SARAH DECIDED SHE should have known Allison would see tracking down the album quilt as another challenge, and Allison loved challenges. Nick was going to have his hands full with her, Sarah thought with an inward smile.
“So we don’t know for sure if it was sold, and Julia doesn’t remember doing it.” Allison summed up the situation.
“That’s about it.” Sarah frowned, trying to pin down the exact source of her concern about Julia. “She seemed more confused than I’ve ever seen her. You know how sharp she usually is.”
“And how outspoken,” Allison added. “I’m surprised you were able to keep her from calling the police. Are you sure that was the right thing to do?”
“I’m not sure of anything. But if Julia is getting forgetful, I wouldn’t want that exposed by her starting a police investigation over something that wasn’t stolen at all.”
“We have the photo, at least.” Allison propped it up next to her computer. “I’ll scan it to see if I can bring up any of the details. And I can do a computer search among dealers as soon as I get a little time.”
Sarah smiled. “I figured you and your computer could put us on the right track. I guess if anyone can trace the quilt, it’s the two of us.”
Allison grinned back. “Maybe we can set ourselves up as quilt detectives. But right now I have to get some letters out about the festival. If you can handle things here, I’ll go up to my office and deal with that.”
Sarah nodded. “Esther and Becky should be here soon. I can’t wait to show them Julia’s quilts. You go on.”
Allison would follow through, but the missing quilt—if it was missing—might have to wait a bit while they dealt with more immediate concerns.
Once Allison had gone upstairs, Sarah spread one of the quilts she’d brought from Julia’s on the worktable. The Lancaster Rose design was beautifully executed. Sarah marveled over the tiny stitches that formed a feathery pattern in the quilting. The soft pink and rose colors looked faded, but that might just be surface dust.
She was bending over the quilt with a soft brush when the bell jangled.
“Are you taking over my job?” Becky questioned, shedding the bonnet that hid her blond hair the instant she came in the shop.
“Just getting it ready for you. Hi, Anna. Hi, Lena. I’m glad you came today.”
Anna scurried over to Sarah, her younger sister following. “I’m working on a nine-patch doll quilt,” she said proudly. “Do you want to see it?”
“For sure,” Sarah said. “What about you, Lena?”
“I don’t want to make any old nine-patch,” she said, her young voice firm.
“But that’s what Amish girls always start out on.”
“Not me,” Lena declared. “I want to be different.” She looked at the quilt, her small body leaning trustingly against Sarah. “What’s this one called?” One small finger prodded the quilt.
“That’s a Lancaster Rose quilt. Can you guess why it’s called Lancaster?”
“’Cause we live in Lancaster County. I know that, even if I’m not in school yet.”
“Right you are.” She smiled at the little girl and turned, surprised to see that the children were followed by Becky and Aaron but not their grandmother. Sarah’s heart gave a little bump when she saw Aaron watching his children with such tenderness in his face.
“Where’s Esther to
day? I hope she’s not sick?”
“Mamm’s fine.” Becky put her bonnet and the children’s under the counter. “She has a dentist appointment this afternoon, though.”
“I brought them on my way to the lumberyard,” Aaron said. “Would you be willing to drop Becky and the kinder at home when you leave here?”
“Of course I will. It’ll be a pleasure.” Sarah would probably indulge in the dangerous daydream in which Anna and Lena were her own little ones, and they were all going home to Aaron.
“Good.” Lena slipped her hand into Sarah’s. “Tell us more about this quilt.”
“Well, it came from an elderly friend of mine, and it was made by her mother or grandmother, so it’s pretty old.”
“Is that why it looks so faded?” Anna asked.
Becky joined them. “It might just be dirty. Maybe you can help me brush the dust out, if you promise to be very, very gentle.”
“I can do that,” the girl said.
“Me, too,” Lena insisted. “Let me help, too, Aunt Becky.”
“I think there are enough brushes to go around,” Sarah said, smiling at them. “We’ll all work.”
Aaron touched her sleeve. “Before you start, maybe you could walk out to the buggy with me, all right?”
Sarah nodded, feeling suddenly shy. Aaron wanted to talk with her privately, for some reason.
The two of them walked to the back of the building, where a door led out to the paved parking area. Sarah reached for the latch and gave an annoyed exclamation. “This door has been left unlocked.”
“It’s not supposed to be?” Aaron tried it himself, as men so often seemed to need to do.
“The custodian is only supposed to leave it open if we’re expecting someone to need it. Otherwise, folks are meant to ring the buzzer by the door, and he comes and lets them in.”
“He probably decided to save himself a trip,” Aaron said, holding the door for her. He looked distracted, as if the failures of their custodian were of little importance.
“Is something troubling you?” She stepped outside to the parking lot, where Aaron’s horse and wagon waited.
Across the paved area was the cabinetry shop, and next to it the fenced paddock for her mare, with a lean-to for Molly to shelter under on wet days. Sarah’s own buggy was pushed back under the maple tree to leave as much space as possible for customers to park.
They’d reached Aaron’s buggy before he answered, but his lowered eyebrows had already told her she was right.
“I had an odd message left on the answering machine at the phone shanty.” He patted his horse absently. “You remember when I told you I was writing to Matt Gibson about the property sale?”
“Did you get an answer from him so soon?” But an answer, one way or the other, surely wouldn’t worry him.
“Not exactly. I think he must have gotten my letter, or why the message? But he sounded upset, even angry. I certain sure didn’t mean to question his judgment. He had a right to sell to anybody he wanted.”
It seemed clear that Aaron was having second thoughts about having written. “What did he say?” Sarah asked.
“It was very short, but I remember Matt never liked to talk to machines, so maybe that was why. He’d probably started speaking before the recording began, so it picked up in the middle. He was saying something about a letter, and I think he meant he was writing to me. But then he said he’d be coming back to Pennsylvania soon. He said, ‘We have to talk.’ And then he hung up.”
“But I thought the whole reason he sold the property the way he did was that he was feeling too poorly to travel.” Now it was Sarah’s turn to frown. “I’m sure he said in a Christmas card that his doctor told him he couldn’t fly because of his bad heart.”
“Ja, that’s what I understood, too. So now I’m wondering if my letter upset him so much that he’s risking his health to come back here. I didn’t mean for him to do that. I thought he’d write me a note, that’s all.”
“You feel responsible for him making the trip, ain’t so? But you should know by now that Matt Gibson makes up his own mind about things.” She tried for a tone of calm common sense, even as her mind worried over what this might mean.
“Ja, that’s true.” Aaron’s expression eased a little. “But still, I wrote the letter.”
Aaron had always had a sensitive conscience, quick to take responsibility even for things that weren’t really his fault. He’d never outgrown that, it seemed.
“If he had a right to sell, you also had a right to know why he didn’t honor his promise to you. The decision to come was his,” she pointed out. “Did he say when he’s arriving?”
Aaron shook his head. “Just that we have to talk.”
Sarah touched his arm lightly and as quickly took her hand away. “Matthew is as stubborn as Julia Everly is. I hope I’m not that bad when I’m old.”
Aaron’s lips quirked. “I think there’s no danger of that, Sarah. What has Julia upset now?”
Maybe talking about something else would ease his worries about Matt Gibson. “I wasn’t able to find a special quilt she thought was in her attic, and she’s bound and determined someone stole it from her. She wanted me to call Mac then and there.”
Aaron didn’t give her the expected smile in return. “Was it a valuable quilt?”
“If it really is a mid-1800s Baltimore album quilt, and if it’s in good condition, it would be worth thousands. But that’s a lot of ifs.”
“Do you think she might be right about it being stolen? I’ve heard stories of people preying on the elderly, thinking them alone and helpless.”
Sarah had heard the stories, too, and it saddened her to think of those who were alone. Still... “How would anyone know she had a valuable quilt stored in her attic?”
Aaron didn’t answer for a moment, studying her face. “You’re trying to convince yourself, Sarah. I know that look. And you’re determined to help her, ain’t so?”
The warmth of his tone shook her. “You don’t need to say it as if it’s a fault to want to help others.”
“Ach, I don’t mean that.” Now he clasped her wrist in a firm, reassuring grip. “I know it’s useless to expect you to think first of yourself. You’re a generous woman. Look how gut you are with my girls. All they can talk about is how much fun they have when they come to the shop.”
If he kept on holding her wrist, he might detect the way her heart was racing at his touch. But she couldn’t bring herself to pull away.
“Anna and Lena are such sweet girls. Who could help wanting to have fun with them? You are doing a wonderful fine job of raising them on your own.”
“Denke.” His expression seemed to darken, and his fingers moved against the skin on the inside of her wrist, his touch shimmering across her skin. “I’m glad you think so. Some people seem to think I should marry again as fast as possible, as if I can’t raise them without a wife.”
His tone seemed to say that remarrying was out of the question. Her heart twisted. Did he still love his late wife so much that he couldn’t bear to think of another woman in her place?
Sarah managed to force words through dry lips. “You have plenty of time. The girls are happy and healthy as things are, and they have your mamm and Becky.” She took a breath. “I’m sorry the grief is still so painful.”
Aaron’s gaze met hers, met and held. She couldn’t tell what thoughts moved behind that dark expression, but she felt as if she were drowning in his eyes. Slowly he lifted her hand, and for an instant she thought he intended to press his lips against her wrist.
Heat flooded her at the thought. Could he tell what she was thinking?
With a sudden movement Aaron swung away from her. He grasped the side of the buggy, his knuckles white.
“I must go.” His voice rasped painfully
.
He grabbed the lines. Released, she stepped away, dazed, unsure whether what she felt was grief or shame.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SARAH WAS STILL trying to figure out what had happened between them when she went back into the shop. All she’d been trying to do was reassure Aaron, but that sudden surge of emotion...
Maybe she should have found a reason to stay out of the shop a bit longer. She wasn’t sure she could keep her face composed.
No one seemed to notice anything, though. Becky had the children helping her to brush the Lancaster Rose quilt.
“Look, Sarah.” Becky’s enthusiasm bubbled over. “See how bright this little square is where we’ve brushed it.”
Sure enough, the colors had emerged from the seemingly faded surface, as if they were real roses cleaned by a summer shower.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? The quilting stitches are as delicate as a bird’s feathers. Julia’s grandmother must have been a master quilter.”
“Like our grossmammi,” Anna said loyally.
“Like your grossmammi,” Sarah agreed. “And Aunt Becky, too. You are wonderful fortunate to have two such fine quilters in the family.”
A wash of color, as delicate as that of the rose on the quilt, tinted Becky’s cheeks at the praise. “I don’t remember that Mrs. Everly is interested in quilts at all,” she said. “You’d think her grossmammi would have taught her.”
“I think they lived far apart, so maybe that was why she didn’t have an interest,” Sarah said.
“Ach, that is a shame.” Becky’s tone grew sad. “Nothing is more important than family.”
Sarah nodded, glancing at the little girls. To the Amish, the Englisch pattern of moving far away from kin for new jobs and new lives seemed so strange. A birthday celebration for each of Aaron’s children would mean a gathering of aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, all living within a short distance and part of their everyday life. Even without a mother, they didn’t lack for relatives to love and care for them.
