by Marta Perry
“Ach, well, you’ll have to forgive us. Folks who live in an area like this all know each other so well that an incomer is a nine days’ wonder. Everyone in the township knows about the new midwife, and welcome news it is. The closest Amish midwife is nearly twenty miles away, and folks out here don’t like going clear into Suffolk, either.”
“I’m certainly glad to hear that.” This was going better than she’d imagined. “I’d hoped you might be willing to post one of my business cards where your customers would see it.”
“Give me a whole stack of them, and I’ll pass them on to anyone who might be thinking of babies,” Ruth said promptly.
“That’s wonderful.” She pulled a handful from the side pocket of her bag. “I’ll bring some more over later, if you can use them.”
“Sure thing.” Ruth took the cards and slipped them into an apron pocket. “I suppose Ted Rittenhouse told you how short of medical help we are around here, unless we want to go into Suffolk.”
Why would she suppose anything of the kind? “Ted Rittenhouse?”
Ruth seemed oblivious to the edge in her voice. “Ted certainly is a nice fellow. Born and bred in the township, and glad we were to have him come back home again after that time in Chicago. You like him, don’t you?”
“I—I thought he was very helpful. When I got lost, I mean, the first time I came to see the house.”
“Helpful, yes. Kind, too. Why, I’ve known that boy since he was running around barefoot. There’s not a mean bone in his body.”
“Yes, well—I’m sure that’s true.” And why on earth did the woman think she needed to know that? “Do you mind if I look around your store?”
“I’ll show you around myself. Not exactly busy on a weekday in the fall, though weekends we still get the rush of tourists trampling through, oohing and aahing over the Amish and blocking the roads every time they spot a buggy. Still, their money helps keep me afloat.”
“You seem to carry just about everything anyone could want in here.” A cooler marked Night Crawlers sat next to a rack filled with the latest celebrity magazines.
“That’s why it’s a general store.” Ruth looked around with satisfaction at her domain. Apparently she felt the same way about her store as Fiona did about her practice. “I have something for everyone from the Amish farmers to the senior citizen bus tours. No good Pennsylvania Dutchman ever turned down profit.”
Fiona glanced at the woman’s print dress. “You’re not Amish, I take it?”
“Mennonite. First cousins to the Amish, you bet.” She brushed the full skirt. “You can tell by the clothes. You’ll soon get onto it.” The bell on the door tinkled, and she gestured toward the archway. “I’ll just get that. Go on through and check out the other section. I’ve got some lovely quilts and handmade chests if you’re looking to furnish your house local.”
She hadn’t thought of that, but obviously it would be good public relations to buy some of what she needed locally. She walked through the archway. The rag rugs would be beautiful against the hardwood once the floors were cleaned and polished. And—
She rounded the end of the aisle and lost her train of thought. The back part of this area was a large, well-lit workroom. Finished quilts lined the walls, their colors and patterns striking.
Two Amish women bent over a quilt frame, apparently putting the finishing touches to a quilt whose vibrant colors glowed against their dark, plain dresses. Another sat at a treadle sewing machine. All three glanced at her briefly and then lowered their eyes, as if it were impolite to stare.
But she was the one who was being impolite, unable to tear her gaze away. Was that what her mother would have looked like now, if she hadn’t run away, if she hadn’t died? Dark dress, dark apron, hair parted in the center and pulled back beneath a white cap, seeming to belong in another century?
“Looks like plenty of work is being done in here.” The voice from behind startled her into an involuntary movement. Ted nodded coolly and strolled past her to lean over the quilt on the frame.
“Another Double Wedding Ring? Haven’t you made enough of those in the last year, Em?”
The woman he spoke to surprised Fiona by laughing up at him in what could only be described as a flirtatious way. “That’s what the English want, Ted Rittenhouse. You know that well, you do.”
“Well, give the customers what they want, I suppose.” He nodded toward Fiona, apparently not noticing that she stood frozen to the spot. “You meet the new midwife who’s setting up next door, did you?”
Apparently now that he had, in effect, introduced her, it was all right to stare. Three pairs of eyes fixed on her as Ted mentioned the women’s names: Emma Brandt, Barbara Stoller, Sarah Bauman. Emma was probably in her thirties, although it was difficult to judge, and the other two probably in their sixties.
Fiona nodded, trying to get past the unexpected shock she’d felt at the sight of them. These were people who might introduce her to prospective clients in the Amish community, so she’d better try to make a decent impression.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. The quilt is wonderful. I didn’t realize you actually made them here.”
“Ruth says the tourists like to see the work done.” Emma seemed to be the spokeswoman for the group. “We do special orders for folks, too.”
“That’s great.” Fiona knew how stupid she sounded, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. She’d assumed all Amish women were cloistered at home, taking care of their families, instead of out earning money. How much more didn’t she know about her mother’s people?
Ted strolled back toward her. “Could I have a moment of your time? I’ll walk out with you.”
She nodded, saying goodbye to the quilters, and preceded him toward the exit. When the door closed, its bell tinkling, he spoke before she could get a word out.
“I’d say if you want to have an Amish clientele for that practice of yours, you’ll have to stop looking at them like they’re animals in the zoo.”
“I didn’t!” But she probably had. “I was just surprised, that’s all. I didn’t realize anyone was back there.” How did the man always manage to put her in the wrong?
“Uh-huh.” He managed to infuse the syllables with such doubt that her embarrassment was swallowed up in anger. She certainly wasn’t going to tell him what had precipitated her behavior.
“Excuse me. I have things to do.” She turned, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm.
“Don’t you even want to know what I had to tell you?”
She gritted her teeth. Be polite, Fiona. “Of course. What is it?”
“The carpenters will be coming around in an hour or so. Try to get over your feelings about the Amish before then, will you?”
Before she could respond, he walked off across the street.
* * *
“Well, it’s not exactly what I expected.” Fiona cradled the cell phone against her ear with one hand and continued scrubbing the kitchen sink with the other. She might have to rub all the enamel off to get it clean.
“Better or worse?” Tracy Wilton, her closest friend from midwife training, sounded as if she were in the next room instead of three thousand miles away. “You could always come back, you know. They haven’t filled your job here yet.”
“I’m not sure whether it’s better or worse, but it’s definitely different.” She thought of Ted’s obvious doubt that she’d stick it out. “I’m staying, though. I’ll make it work.”
“I bet you will. Listen, if your practice gets too big for one person, just give me a call. Especially if you’ve found any great-looking men among those Pennsylvania Dutch farmers of yours.”
Fiona pushed an image of Ted Rittenhouse from her mind. “I’m not looking for any. Trust me. Getting my practice up and running is enough to occupy me for the moment. All I’m worried about right now is whether my money will hold out that long.”
A rap sounded on the front door, and she headed into the hallway. “Listen, Tracy, someone�
��s here. I’ll give you a call later, okay?”
“Okay. Take care.”
Fiona snapped off the phone as she swung the door open and saw what appeared to be a whole congregation of Amish men in black trousers and dark shirts filling her porch. She blinked against the late-afternoon sunlight and realized there were only four, surveying her silently.
What on earth?—and then she realized they had to be the carpenters Ted had said he’d send. The oldest man, his beard a snowy white, nodded gravely.
“I am Mose Stetler. Ted Rittenhouse said as how you are wanting some carpentry work done. Said you needed it in a hurry.”
“Yes, he told me he’d talked to you. I’m Fiona Flanagan.” She nodded to the men and held the door wide. “Please, come in. I’m glad you were able to come so soon.”
And a little surprised Ted hadn’t told them to forget about coming after their exchange earlier.
“Oh, we had to.” He jerked his head toward the youngest of the men, hardly more than a boy, with rounded cheeks above a rather straggly beard. “Young Aaron, here, he’ll be needing your services before long, won’t you, Aaron?”
The boy blushed, his prominent ears reddening. “My Susie…” He stopped, apparently embarrassed to actually say that his wife was expecting.
“Well, then, all the more reason to get my practice up and running. But I’ll be happy to talk to your wife anytime, even if my office isn’t ready.” She started to say the woman could phone her, and then realized that she couldn’t. “Just have her send a message if she’d like to talk.”
He bobbed his head, flushing when one of the other men said something to him in what sounded like German. She didn’t understand the words, but the teasing was obvious.
“So, now.” Mr. Stetler rubbed callused palms together. “You show me what you want done, and I will figure out a price.” His eyes twinkled. “A fair price. You’re one of us, after all.”
She blinked. Surely he couldn’t be referring to her mother. No one knew except the Flanagans. “One of you?”
“A resident, not a tourist,” he explained. Apparently tourists were fair game, but not someone who planned to live here.
She showed them over the downstairs, explaining what she needed. Mose made several helpful suggestions for the arrangement that she hadn’t thought of.
Finally he took out a stub of pencil and a scrap of paper and figured a price. She looked at the paper with a sense of relief. It was high, but she’d known it would be, with the cost of materials, and it was well within her budget.
“Fine. We have a deal. When can you start?”
Stetler beamed. “Right away. We do some measurements now, and then be back here at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”
“Excellent.”
By the time they’d finished up the measurements and were heading out the door, they were on a first-name basis, even with Aaron, the shy expectant father. She was just assuring him that he wasn’t going to feel a thing when one of the other men said something that made them all double over with laughter.
“He said unless Aaron’s wife hits him for getting her into that predicament.”
Somehow she wasn’t surprised to see Ted Rittenhouse standing by the porch, one large boot propped against the front step and a grin on his face.
“I’ll protect him,” Fiona shot back, her gaze challenging his. She’d let him see that she was getting along perfectly well with his Amish friends.
Ted nudged at the step with his boot. “Hey, Mose, you’d best put fixing this step at the top of your list.”
Mose nodded gravely. “Before you put your big foot through it, yes.” For some reason, everyone thought that was funny, and they all trooped off, laughing, toward the wagon and its patiently waiting horse.
She was very aware of Ted, standing silent beside her. When he didn’t speak, she realized there was something she had to say. She turned toward him, and found him watching her.
“Thank you very much for sending Mose and his crew over. I’m so relieved to have the project underway.”
“They’ll do a good job for you. And they’ll be honest about the price, too.”
She nodded. “I’m sure they will.” She hesitated, and then decided she’d better say the rest of what she’d been thinking. “You know, I thought maybe you’d change your mind and tell them not to come.”
He looked surprised. “Why would I do that?”
“Well, you weren’t exactly happy with me earlier.”
“That doesn’t mean I’d make things difficult for you. Maybe you have something to learn about folks around here.”
Those words might have been said snidely, but she couldn’t detect anything other than genuine concern in his voice. Concern, and perhaps even kindness.
“Maybe so.” She struggled to speak over the sudden lump in her throat. “This move is a big change in my life. I know I have to adjust some of my attitudes if I’m going to make a go of it here.”
His lips twitched in a slight smile. “You’ll be fine. You have something to offer. Just give yourself a chance. And give us one, too.”
The gentleness in his voice drew her. She looked up to find his intense gaze so focused on her face that it seemed to generate warmth. She couldn’t look away, couldn’t even seem to draw breath. Was it the afternoon sunlight dazzling her eyes, or was it the man?
And then he took a step back. It was hard to tell with that stolid face of his, but she had a feeling he felt just as shocked as she did.
Chapter Three
Her mother’s box now sat on her brand-new dresser in her own bedroom in the house in Crossroads. Fiona touched it, smiling a little at the sound of hammering from downstairs.
She’d moved in yesterday, in spite of Nolie and Gabe’s repeated urging to stay with them until the work was completely finished. Much as she’d appreciated their kindness, she’d given in to the need to be here, on the spot, supervising the renovations.
She had a bedroom and a kitchen—at the moment she didn’t need anything else. Once she’d found time to paint the room that was going to be her living room, to say nothing of getting some furniture in it, she’d be ready to entertain. She could invite her Flanagan cousins over.
The past few days had been busy ones, notable only for the absence of one person. Ted hadn’t dropped by again. Maybe he was occupied with township business. Or maybe he’d been as shocked by that moment of rapport as she had been.
In any event, it was fine that he hadn’t been around. She’d been able to write the incident off as nothing—just a random flare of attraction that she could quickly forget. She had nothing in common with a man like Ted Rittenhouse, and even if she’d wanted it, she had no time in her life for romance.
Making a success of her practice had to be the only thing on her mind now, and she’d already made a good start. An invitation had been relayed by Aaron from his wife and had resulted in her first visit to an Amish home.
The simple, painted interior with its large, square rooms and handmade furniture had charmed her. When she’d commented on the beauty of a hand-carved wooden rocking chair, young Susie had shrugged off the compliment, saying the chair was “for use, not for pretty.”
She’d been surprised to find Susie already in her thirty-fourth week, but she learned that the couple had only recently returned to the family farm after living in an Amish community in Ohio where Aaron was apprenticed to a master carpenter. Susie was healthy, happy and eagerly looking forward to the birth, and especially to having her baby at home. Fiona had come away with a sense of satisfaction that she would provide the kind of birthing experience the couple wanted.
And happy that she was wanted and needed—she couldn’t deny that. It was a step toward belonging. And another step might be—
She lifted the lid on the box, her fingers touching the perfectly matched corners. Here was all she had of the mother she’d never known. An Amish cap and apron, put away never to be worn again. A white baby gown, edged wit
h delicate embroidery. And the patches for a quilt, each one sewn with stitches so tiny they were practically invisible.
She carried the pieces to the spool bed which was her latest purchase and spread them out, not sure how they were intended to fit together. Each piece was a rectangle composed of smaller square and rectangular pieces in rich, solid colors. The deep pink shade that predominated made her wonder if her mother might have intended the quilt for a daughter. If so, she’d never know.
But she could have the quilt. She didn’t have the skill to put it together, but the quilters at Ruth’s store did. She could imagine it gracing her bed, symbolizing her ties to her new community.
She gathered the pieces, slipped them into a bag and went quickly down the steps, greeting the carpenters, amazed as always by how much they’d accomplished. The rooms were taking shape before her eyes, and her dream was closer to reality every day.
She hurried over to the general store, eager now to set this project in motion. Ruth looked up when the bell tinkled, but she was busy with a customer, so Fiona waved and went on through to the workroom. Emma Brandt greeted her with a smile, while two older women she hadn’t seen before glanced up, nodded and bent over the quilt frame again.
“Emma, I’d like to show you something.” She approached the quilt frame slowly. It wasn’t too late to change her mind, but Emma was nodding. Waiting.
“Yes?”
For a moment her hand held the bag shut. This would be the first time she’d shown the quilt squares to anyone, and she felt an odd reluctance to have them out of her possession. Shaking the emotion off, she drew out the fabric squares.
“I have these quilt pieces, and I wondered if you’d be able to put them together for me.”
Emma pushed her glasses into place and took them, turning them slowly in her capable hands. “A log cabin design,” she said. “The colors are lovely. This will make a fine quilt for your new bed.”
She was getting used to the fact that everyone seemed to know everything about her. It seemed the rumor mill was always grinding in Crossroads. Emma could probably tell her where she’d bought the bed and how much she’d paid for it.
