by Kelly Irvin
Todd went on to give Leo a series of instructions that included pouring cool water on Red’s feet two or three times a day, putting him on a low-carb, low-protein diet, adding plenty of hay to his stall to give him a softer place to stand, and getting his hooves trimmed before special boots could be put on them. “It’s up to you how much you do, but the more you do, the more relief he’ll get. It’ll cost you money, but a good blacksmith who knows what he’s doing should do the trimming.”
“I’ll get Zeke over here right away.” Blacksmith Zeke Hostetler and Leo had grown up together as best friends before Zeke decided to leave his Plain faith behind to marry an English girl. “He has experience with this.”
“You can always owe me for my services.” His dark-brown eyes intent, Todd delivered the medicine to Red, who did his best to avoid treatment. Todd was a skinny guy with no girth, but he had a way with the massive animals that made him one of the best vets around. He also had an uncanny way with people. He could’ve been a people doctor. “I’m betting Zeke is the same way.”
Leo studied the barn rafters for a second. He hated owing people money, almost as much as he hated talking to them. “I’ll pay you as soon as I can.”
“How about this? Samantha has a hankering for one of your rocking chairs. The double rocker. Make me one of those and I’ll owe you.”
Barter for services was a time-honored tradition in these parts. “Oak or walnut?”
“Which is best for putting twins to sleep?”
“Twins?” Todd and Samantha were expecting, Leo knew that, although Todd had said little, knowing how circumspect his Plain friends were about discussing such things. “You’re doubly blessed then.”
“Yep. It’s an amazing thing to see those two beating hearts in a sonogram.” Todd ran both hands through thinning blond hair. He likely would be bald before those twins were in high school. “Two girls.”
English medicine was amazing, but it took the joyous surprise out of the miracle of birth in Leo’s way of thinking. “Two daughters. A blessing indeed.”
Todd’s grin stretched so wide it must hurt his cheeks. “You’re telling me, buddy. I’m over the moon. So is Samantha. So what do you think? Make me the rocking chair. She and I can rock our babies at the same time.”
“Consider it a baby gift.” A twinge that started in the vicinity of Leo’s heart spread across his chest. He had no need for a rocking chair. No fraa. No babies to rock. No lullabies to hum. “You’ll need a lot of things for two babies.”
“No way. We’ll be even on my services, but I’ll still owe you. I know what those chairs run. And you need the money.” Todd stopped. His face turned radish red. “I mean, man, I’m sorry. I open my mouth, insert foot, all the time. I’m just saying, I want to pay you for it. It’s too big a gift, too valuable.”
“And I know what your services run.” The lack of money truly didn’t bother Leo much, or he would’ve overcome his loathing of mixing with folks. That other feeling, so like a writhing snake of envy, bothered him more. He’d avoided thinking about his lack of a fraa for so long, the sharp twinge of pain took him by surprise. He still had feelings. He didn’t want feelings. They only led to the pain of loss. Of unseeing eyes and lolling heads. “I want to do this for you and Samantha. They’re your first.”
After three years of marriage, they’d been concerned. He could see it in Todd’s eyes when he talked about their plans to add bedrooms to their little bungalow house—when they needed them. It had taken them longer to need them than they had expected. Then the joy when the news came that there would indeed be a baby. Now two babies.
Leo had expected at some point to have a wife. Only he hadn’t. Because having a wife meant talking to the girls. Going to the singings. Taking a girl for a ride. He had done it one time—with Jennie Troyer. It had been so awkward and he’d been so bad at it he hadn’t tried again. It meant taking a chance and he simply hadn’t been able to do it.
“You need to charge me because you’re gonna have to get yourself another horse. Red, here, won’t be able to work for quite a while, if ever.”
“I know he won’t, but I’ll find more work. It’s not for you to worry about. A gift is a gift.”
A man having twins needed to save his money for diapers and car seats and more diapers and high chairs and cribs. And more diapers. Double the trouble and double the money.
What a good problem to have.
“Horses are good company. But so are women.” Todd busied himself packing his doctor bag. “If you catch my drift.”
Leo did. They’d been friends a long time. Todd had never stuck his nose in Leo’s business so much in one day. “I’m fine.”
“There’s nothing like it, man. Women are something special. I used to heat up a burrito in the microwave for supper. I’d drink beer and watch baseball on TV. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. Then I met Samantha.” He threw his hands in the air, head back, eyes rolled, in a dramatic, comic rendition of his condition. “Talk about heaven. There’s no comparison, whatsoever.”
“It’s not for everyone.”
“Yes, it is, my friend. It is. I promise you.” He slapped Leo on the back so hard, he stumbled forward a step. “Try it, you’ll like it.”
“I’ll stick to horses and furniture.”
“You are stubborn as a mule. So, I’m gonna go. I’ll be back tomorrow to give him another dose. In the meantime, low-carb, low-protein diet.” Todd grasped his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “You can bandage his feet with poultices made from bran and Epsom salts, but we don’t really know if that helps.”
“Can’t hurt.”
“Neither can getting on with your life. A guy has to man up and do it, sooner or later.”
Tough words from a man who knew what Leo had been through. Their paths had crossed when one of Leo’s dogs had been sick. Todd was the new vet in town, taking over from Doc Carter, who had held the spot for a good thirty-five years. Todd stayed all night, sitting cross-legged on the floor in the front room, keeping Leo company until Tinker passed. An unlikely friendship forged in loss and a mutual love of animals. “We’ll see.”
“Just think. A son. Or a daughter.”
The possibilities seemed like stars that twinkled in the night sky, then disappeared behind a blanket of clouds.
He might end up with something akin to what Todd had. A wife. Twins on the way.
Leo might not sell his work in town because of the money, but could he do it for the company of a good woman? For the possibility of children? Of family?
The thoughts twisted themselves into a knot in his chest.
Todd was almost to his black Chevy Traverse before Leo caught him. “Hey, wait.”
“Whatcha need?”
“Give me a ride into town?” He eventually would have to borrow one of Aidan’s horses until he could figure out something else. Not being a farmer, he didn’t have extras the way his cousin did. “I need to get a couple of things.”
Talk to Mary Katherine Ropp. There was something about the woman that made the words come a little easier. And he’d heard her working on Jennie more than once. Jennie of the sweet, heart-shaped face and soft, strangely sad voice.
“How will you get back?”
“I’ll hitch a ride.”
Someone from the district would be in town at the grocery store, the hardware store, or one of the Plain shops. They always were.
Not having his own ride would keep him from losing his nerve and turning around.
NINE
Fifteen minutes later Leo thanked Todd for the ride, hitched up his pants, took a deep breath, and strode toward Amish Treasures. He thought of it as Mary Katherine’s shop because she was the driving force behind it. Really, it belonged to a bunch of them. All working together for a single cause. Holding on to their farms. Holding on to their way of life. It was nestled next to a huge antique shop in a long, two-story red-brick building probably built sometime in the late eighteen-hundreds. The building
had some wear and tear on it, in other words. A bell tinkled when he opened the glass door with its hand-painted sign.
Inside, things were looking good—better. The store was a work in progress.
Mary Katherine, Jennie, and the others had worked for weeks removing the meat display cases from the store, ripping out old linoleum, restaining the original wood floors underneath, and painting the walls a pale robin’s-egg blue. Unused light fixtures still hung overhead, but the store was filled instead with light from half a dozen windows that ran top to bottom along the front. Bright and airy. The sweet scent of lavender and roses mingled, a far cry from the earthy smell of raw steaks and sausage.
Mary Katherine stood next to a far wall where a series of king-and queen-size quilts were displayed on long dowels that stuck out from the wall. She was talking to an English woman who patted at her damp face with a tissue in one hand and held a chubby toddler balanced on her hip with the other.
“I don’t know how you stand it in here without AC. Why don’t you turn on those ceiling fans at least?” The woman grimaced as she pointed at the fans overhead, her tone like that of a whiny teenager. “It’s a sauna in here.”
“The breeze is nice.” Mary Katherine gestured toward the open windows. “We’re selling cold lemonade, if you’re interested.”
Leave it to Mary Katherine to capitalize on the English folks not being used to the heat. Most of the English stores were too cold in the summer—at least for Leo. Even if Mary Katherine wanted to turn on the fans—the Ordnung gave them some leeway on the use of electricity, computers, and such for business purposes—she didn’t dare. The electrical wiring was old, according to an English friend who’d helped with the renovations. It was a wonder faulty wiring hadn’t caused the place to burn down around Mr. O’Rourke with all his freezers, meat display cases, AC, fans, and lights.
“I’d rather have a pop.” The tourist shook her head. Dangling earrings shaped like leaves danced. She wore a sleeveless blouse and short-short shorts, revealing an assortment of tattoos, mostly flowers of various colors. “That’s an awful lot of money for a quilt.”
“It’s handmade, every stitch. Sometime when we are having a quilting frolic, we’ll have an open house so folks like you can see what goes into making such a piece as this.” Mary Katherine’s tone remained respectful. No doubt she heard this refrain frequently. Tourists loved the quilts, but they also wanted a bargain. Quilts were not manufactured comforters like the ones found in bed bags at discount stores. No doubt they would complain about his furniture too. “It’s well worth the price when you think of all the work. And it will last forever. You’ll be able to hand it down to your daughter someday.”
The curly-headed toddler on the woman’s hip chose that moment to clap her hands and giggle as if tickled by Mary Katherine’s observation.
“She’s fourteen months old. Someday is a long way off.” The woman plopped the child on the burnished wood floor. The little girl immediately sat as if her sagging diaper was too heavy for her. “I’d hoped to get two, one for my bedroom and one for the guest bedroom.”
“We have several others in a variety of patterns.” Mary Katherine waved her hand toward the display. “Feel free to look around and think on it. Getting just the right one—or two—is a big decision. They’ll be in your house for a very long time.”
Would he have to do this kind of sales job? Leo’s gut tightened at the thought. His throat went dry. Sweat dampened his armpits. He couldn’t. Mary Katherine smiled at him and waved. She held up one finger as if to say I’ll be right with you.
He edged toward the door. She shook the finger at him. “Wait, Leo. I’ll be right with you.”
He halted. Maybe if he stood still he’d blend into the background like a deer hiding in plain sight from hunters. Directly in front of him stood a shelf filled with books. Shelley Shepard Gray. Beth Wiseman. Amy Clipston. English authors who wrote stories about Plain people. The tourists would like those. On the shelf right next to them was Mary Katherine’s compilation of short stories. The Plain folks liked to read those, and the elders approved of publishing stories if it gave folks something to read that was wholesome and God-centered.
He wasn’t much of a reader, but folks said Mary Katherine had a special way with words. Which explained why she served as the district’s Budget scribe. Her pieces were colorful and full of interesting anecdotes from Jamesport. Those he managed to read. Since he didn’t get out much, he often learned things in the newspaper he didn’t already know about his neighbors. Something Mary Katherine would call a sad commentary.
She talked like that.
“All my friends have quilts in their guest bedrooms to show off when they have company.” The whine had returned to the woman’s voice. Leo glanced back. The baby stood on plump legs and headed for a shelf filled with wooden trains, wagons, and pull-toys made by Angus Plank. The woman caught the straps of the toddler’s sundress and tugged her back. “No you don’t. Stay.”
Like the child was an unruly puppy.
With her free hand, she dug around in an oversize leather bag and came up with a cell phone clad in a pink sparkly cover. “I have to talk to my best friend. See how much she paid. I’ll get back to you.”
Leo studied the small framed paintings of flowers and birds over the counter. Lorraine Hostetler had made those. He didn’t want to see the woman rub her sweaty hand over the quilt’s pristine squares while she alternately gabbed into the phone and scolded the child, who’d discovered the faceless dolls. Quilts were just blankets, after all. Something intended to keep a person warm in the winter. Not for bragging rights. Mary Katherine trotted in his direction. “I’m so glad you came.” She clapped her hands as if applauding his decision. “I hope that means what I think it means.”
He folded his arms across his middle, afraid if he left them loose they would accidently collide with jars of jam or honey or a rack of hand-embroidered tablecloths or pieced rag rugs. The store held a treasure trove of goods that represented the hard work of many of his friends, even family members. His cousin Timothy’s wife, Josie, made the sweet-smelling candles on the shelf above them. “I don’t understand why they make such a fuss over blankets.”
Mary Katherine shrugged and straightened a pile of Iris Beachy’s crib quilts, which were just the right size for a cradle. “The Amish are a mystery to the rest of the world. They don’t understand our ways. It’s almost as if they want a little piece of us to help them find their way back to a simpler life closer to Gott. They like that we live close to the earth. They see our way as peaceful when theirs is full of strife and noise and far from Gott.”
“Guess they don’t notice the hard work it takes to live this way.” He tapped down the grumpiness in the words. The English folks’ money allowed his friends and family to supplement their income. He shouldn’t criticize while holding out his hand for some himself. “And my furniture will give them that feeling too?”
“You’ll do it? You’ll sell your furniture here?” Her smile lit up her face. He felt like a scholar who’d won favor with his teacher. Something he never actually did when he was in school. “How soon will you have something to display? It would be lovely if you could work on a piece here in the store on Saturdays when we’ll get the most walk-in business.”
His stomach roiled. The demo. Explaining to people what he did and how he did it. “Do I have to?”
“You sound like the kinner when I used to tell them to clean the chicken coop. It’s not that bad. See that area over there?” She pointed to a long, narrow empty space that ran the length of the front of the store. “That’s the demo area. On Saturdays when the foot traffic is highest and on craft days, we’ll have our craftsmen set up there. You’ll be with other folks doing the same thing. You won’t be the only one. I’ll do something out front with free cookies and coupons so folks will come on in. They love seeing craftsmen at work.”
“Like me?” He found that hard to imagine. They simply wanted to wa
tch him work. “Why?”
“Because it’s interesting to them to see how you sand a piece of wood smooth and stain it. You could make small pieces like step stools or miniature rocking chairs for little kinner. They’ll like that.” She gestured with both hands, her face lit up with enthusiasm that made her look much younger. “We’ll have some of the women doing needlepoint and samples of jellies and jams with homemade biscuits and recipe cards, and Laura and Jennie can give quilting lessons if we can get Jennie on board. Poor thing is almost as shy as you are—”
“Jennie?”
The name came out of his mouth before he could stop it. Shy. He never thought of himself as shy. Simply independent. Maybe Jennie saw herself the same way. Did her mouth go dry and her armpits dampen at the thought of showing English shoppers how to quilt? Did women’s armpits sweat like his? What he knew about women would fit on the head of a nail.
Mary Katherine’s hands stopped moving. The smile stretched even farther. “Jah, you have a problem with Jennie being here, or does it seem like a good idea to you?”
“Nee, I just—”
The door swung open and the topic of conversation trotted through, a large box in her arms, four children in her wake like bows on a kite’s tail. Jennie slammed to a halt when she saw him. Her son Mark careened into her. The box slipped from her hands and crashed to the floor.
“I didn’t know you were here.”
Those were the first words out of her mouth. Of course, she didn’t know he was here. What made her think he would think she did? And why drop the box? “I’m leaving.”
“Nee, don’t leave. I was just dropping off these goods for sale.” She knelt, looking as if she had a toothache. “Mark, Elizabeth, help me.”
Strawberry jam oozed from a broken jar onto a dresser scarf filled with tiny, fancy embroidery stitches. The look of anguish on Jennie’s face was unmistakable. She jerked her sewed goods away from the jars. The stain spread.
