She would have to give up. Abandon the violated project. Forget she ever tried to learn to quilt.
Certainly she would never be able to look Beth Stutzman in the eye—she was sure the work was Beth’s. Even though everyone knew that Annie’s amateur stitching did not measure up to the standards of the rest of the quilts in the Beiler home, no one else would have suggested undoing her efforts. How Beth found the time during the last two weeks, Annie did not know. The Stutzmans were not even living in the Beiler home anymore.
Annie grabbed the quilt with both hands, hurled it at the open cedar chest, taking no effort to be tidy, and stomped out the front door.
Rufus heard the screen door slam from across the yard and through the open workshop window. He set down his plane and stepped outside in time to see the burst of a rust-colored dress flashing across the yard, past the garden, and into the barn.
He found Annalise there a few minutes later.
On her knees in the end stall with Her back to the door, she tore at the pins holding her hair in place. Her kapp was already in the straw. He watched, his breath fading, as her blond hair escaped the braids and shook loose. Her shoulders rose with the sudden, noisy intake of air of one caught up in weeping and forgetting to breathe.
“Annalise.”
Instantly she was on her feet. She spun toward him, her hair settling around her face and draping across her chest. Both hands now tried to eradicate the evidence of her tears, but Rufus had never seen her eyes so full.
Annalise Friesen did not cry. She solved problems.
“Annalise, tell me what happened.” He took a step toward her.
Standing in a shaft of light shed by the window above her, she opened her mouth but closed it without speaking. Again her shoulders heaved.
Rufus lightly touched her shoulder. “Talk to me, Annalise.”
She blew out air and breathed in three more times before she could form words.
“Everything is a mess, and I don’t know how to clean it up.”
“What are you talking about?”
Annalise rolled her eyes, a gesture Rufus had seen a few occasions before.
“You name it,” she said, “and it’s a mess.”
“You’ll have to be more specific.”
He wanted to take her in his arms and still her quaking. To feel her racing heart—surely it was racing—and count the moments until it quieted. To stroke her forbidden hair.
“My mother, for starters,” she said. “I didn’t tell you half of what happened on Wednesday. She’s petrified I’ll become Amish.” She clenched the fabric of her skirt. “And look at me, standing here in this dress. What am I supposed to do?”
“I’ll speak to her, if you like.”
“And say what?” Her gray eyes dared him. “Will you tell her that you don’t care for me and I should not become Amish on your account?”
“You shouldn’t,” he said quietly, knowing that he was ducking her arrow.
“See, I’ve made a mess with you, too. What am I doing here, Rufus?”
“You wanted to live a simpler life.”
“You have to know it’s more than that.”
Slowly, he nodded. “I do know. And it is more.”
Her tears glistened, welling again. Rufus wanted to wipe them away with his own fingertips. But he did not move. “It’s Saturday. You came to quilt, I’m sure. So why are you out here?”
“Because I can’t quilt, and everyone knows it.”
“You are learning. Mamm says you are doing well.”
“Clearly someone else has another opinion.”
“What are you talking about, Annalise?”
She gestured toward the house. “Go look for yourself. Someone’s been working on my quilt and doing a far better job than I could ever hope to do.”
“Why would someone work on your quilt?”
“You tell me! Is this an Amish tradition I haven’t heard of yet? Is it some secret of Ordnung that no one has written down for me? Maybe I should just quit the whole business.”
Rufus closed the short distance between them and gripped her elbows, demanding her eyes meet his.
“You don’t mean that,” he said.
“Don’t tell me what I mean.”
“You’ve come too far, worked too hard, to let this spew out of you.”
“So now you’re judging me, too. Great.”
“I am not judging you, Annalise. But I am going to kiss you.”
Her shoulders relaxed as a gasp parted her lips. As he leaned in to take her mouth, one hand moved up her arm and found the back of her neck, under the hair he loved to see hanging loose. His fingers traced her hairline then strayed into the thick waves. The other arm went to the back of her waist to pull her closer, and he felt no protest. Lips soft and yielding responded to the searching pressure he offered.
Rufus broke the kiss at last but stood with his forehead against hers. “Better?”
Her breath came out slow and long. “I’m sorry. I guess I’ve been more confused than I realized.”
“I know we need more time to be together. To talk.”
Annalise nodded. “There is something else I need to talk to you about.”
“Of course.”
“It’s about Joel. And Carter. I’m messing that up, too. I’m not sure, but—”
When he heard the noise of the door opening behind him, Rufus straightened, stepped away, and turned. Joel stood in the gap of daylight, leaning his weight into the side of the barn door to slide it open all the way.
“I need Dolly,” Joel said, “if you’re not planning to take her out.” Rufus turned his palms up. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Joel pushed up the latch on Dolly’s stall and stepped in. “Daed was looking for you a few minutes ago.”
“Do you know what he wanted?”
“No.” Joel reached for Dolly’s bridle on its hook.
Rufus licked his lips and glanced at Annalise. “I suppose I’d better find out what he wants.”
She nodded.
He reached a hand out a few inches, but she made no move to take it, leaving him no option but to go without her.
Annie moved out of the empty stall and toward Joel.
“It’s not what you think,” she said, restraining her wild hair and wishing she had picked up the prayer kapp. Why were Rufus’s kisses always pilfered from disappointment?
“It’s not my business.” Joel busied himself checking the leather of the reins.
“I’ve had a bad day.”
“That happens to all of us. I’m sure you will sort it out.”
“Rufus was…well, you know, trying to help.”
“I told you it’s not my business.”
Annie pressed her lips together, considering her next words. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about Carter. The Stutzman boys, too.”
Now he turned his head toward her, lifting an eyebrow. “It’s my turn to say that it’s not what you think.”
“Is that my cue to say that it’s not my business?”
Joel gave no answer.
“If someone gets hurt,” Annie said, “I will regret saying it’s not my business.”
“The last thing I want is for anyone to get hurt.” Finally he stilled his hands and turned to face her. “Do you trust me, Annalise?”
“Of course, but—”
“No buts. Yes or no.”
It was Annie’s turn to hold her answer as Joel led Dolly out of her stall and into the daylight.
Twenty-Eight
A year ago, in Colorado Springs, on a Sunday afternoon, Annie would have pulled on shorts and a T-shirt, hoping for sun in late May. Here in the mountains, even the afternoon cradled cool night air. Over the deep rust dress, Annie wore her thick navy blue cardigan.
Annie locked up the house, going out the back door to where she had left her bicycle leaning against the sagging back porch. She tied her kapp in place and hiked up her skirt as far as she dared to keep the hem out
of the path of the bike’s chain. All afternoon she practiced smiling and speaking polite Pennsylvania Dutch sentences. This time at least she had advance warning that the Stutzmans were coming for Sunday dinner at the Beilers’. When she closed her eyes and remembered the scene from the day before, Beth’s unblemished stitches in her quilt still rankled. But Annie loved Franey. She loved all the Beilers. She loved being in their home. She was not going to let Beth Stutzman take that away from her.
Thirty minutes later Annie coasted to a stop in the Beiler driveway and assessed the scene. The Stutzman buggy had not yet arrived. All three of the Beiler horses were in the pasture.
She moved across the yard then paused on the porch, her shoulders lifting and falling as her breath recovered from the mountain ride. Surely by now one of the Beilers had put her quilt away properly in the cedar chest.
“Annalise, is that you? Come here.”
Franey’s tone carried a note of anxiety that Annie did not often hear from this calm Amish woman. Annie opened the door and stepped into the house. Franey was in the living room, holding her quilt out. She gripped the finished block in her hands.
“What happened?” Franey’s perplexed eyes squinted.
Annie did not answer. Franey had to know how the quilt square had come to be perfect.
“This is what made you disappear before our lesson yesterday.” Franey expelled air. “I knew Beth was spending too much time here. She came in the afternoons, while I was in the garden, even after her family moved.”
“I should have told you.” Annie stepped across the room and took the quilt from Franey’s arms. “I was stunned when I found it and thought about quitting. But I am not a quitter.”
Annie met Franey’s eyes. She saw the slight smile begin in one corner of her mouth.
“No, Annalise Friesen, you are not a quitter.”
“I am not going to give up quilting, but I am not going to look at those stitches every time I pick up that quilt for the next twenty years.” Annie jabbed at the center of the hoop. “Those stitches are coming out.”
“Demut,” Franey said.
“What are you saying?” Annie’s voice rose with indignation. “Do you mean that humility requires me to let Beth Stutzman ruin my first quilt?”
“Is it pride that makes you want to pull out the stitches?”
“There’s a difference between being humble and being humiliated.” Annie’s retort came low and firm. Surely even the Amish could see the distinction. “I’m going to pull it all out if it takes me the next six Saturdays.”
They stared at each other. Annie heard Jacob humming to himself in the other room.
“It won’t take that long,” Franey finally said, “because I am going to help you.”
Annie grinned. “Thank you.”
“First, I am going to have a word with Beth when she gets here tonight.”
Annie reached out and put a hand on Franey’s arm. “Don’t do that. We’ll work on the stitching next time, but making a scene tonight will just spoil everyone’s evening.”
“I would have a private word.”
“Still, it is the Sabbath, after all.”
“Of course.” Franey blew out her breath and folded the quilt properly. “Let her be surprised when she sees the quilt finished.”
Annie giggled. “I am trying to practice demut, but you are making it hard!”
Franey grinned and squeezed Annie’s hand. They turned at the sound of a buggy. The Stutzmans had arrived.
Rufus glanced several times toward the end of the table where Joel sat between Mark and Luke at the Beiler supper table. That all three teenage boys were present surprised Rufus. He had heard enough mumbling from Ike Stutzman over the last few weeks to know that Mark and Luke were missing as many family meals as Joel. Tonight Eli presided over the table that united Stutzmans and Beilers with great satisfaction. The older boys sat at one end with Ike and Edna, then Stutzman and Beiler girls were around the middle of the table. At the far end, Rufus, Jacob, and Annalise sat near Franey and Eli.
The older boys whispered among themselves, heads together. Joel shook his head. More than once, Rufus saw.
Franey picked up an empty dish. “Let me get some more potatoes.”
Across the table, next to Annalise as usual, Jacob leaned forward toward Rufus. “Is the rock really going to be in the way?”
“In the way of what?” Rufus asked.
“The new trail.” Jacob glanced down the table. “That’s what they’re talking about, isn’t it?”
Rufus smiled. “Why did God give you such good hearing?”
“He just did.” Jacob grinned. “They say you’ll have to take the rock out.”
“No, I don’t think the boulder will be a problem.”
Jacob laid his fork down and kicked the legs of his chair. “Is it true English have better schools than we do?” Jacob asked.
“Not better,” Rufus answered, “just different. Our people learn what they need for a satisfying life.”
“But is it better?”
“Why all the questions?” Annalise said, patting Jacob’s back.
“I just wondered.”
“Well, you’d better eat, or your mamm won’t be happy with you.”
Franey returned with more potatoes and fresh basket of rolls.
As the little boy picked up his fork, both Rufus and Annalise glanced at the older boys. In between passing dishes around the table, the boys huddled with low voices. Something about their demeanor discomfited Rufus, and he looked from one father to the other expecting at least gentle chastisement. None came. Instead, smiles abounded for the Stutzman girls, who had each contributed a dish to the evening’s meal.
Ten years ago it would have meant nothing more than friendship for the Stutzmans and Beilers to share a meal in the home of one family or the other. Now Rufus knew better. The girls had grown up in those ten years. Marriage prospects were considerably slimmer for them here in Colorado, as they were for Rufus himself. Every time Rufus had a meal with the Stutzmans, all three daughters paraded their homemaking skills. Rufus suspected that since he had not made any overtures toward Beth, Johanna now thought there was hope she could attract him. She smiled at him with a new expression tonight—several times.
Rufus turned his gaze away, offering no encouragement. Annalise sat across the table. Yesterday’s kiss still lingered on his lips. She deserved better than to have to sit quietly and watch him find the fine line between discouraging the Stutzman girls and sinking to rudeness himself.
By the time his mother was offering coffee with Beth’s blackberry pie, Rufus had made up his mind.
“I could use a walk after that fine meal,” Rufus said. “Ike, perhaps you’d like to stretch your legs with me.” Annalise’s brow furrowed, and he saw her catch herself and make her face placid again even as she watched his movements. It was time he set things right.
The older man dipped his head as he glanced to his wife. “Of course.”
They walked toward the Beilers’ alfalfa fields. “We got here too late to prepare for the spring seeding,” Ike said. “Just barely. But we have the early fall seeding to look forward to. We could still have a nice crop this year.”
Rufus nodded. He locked his hands behind his waist. “I wanted to have a word in private, Ike.”
“Oh?”
Rufus saw the hope in Ike’s eyes. He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Ike, but I must tell you I don’t lean toward the attentions of your daughters.”
“You are just getting to know them,” Ike protested. “We’ve only been here a few weeks. They are not the little girls you left behind six years ago.”
“Clearly. But still, I would not like to think that any of them might mistake my intentions, for I have none. We are old family friends. I mean no harm to anyone, but your fine daughters would do well to turn their attention elsewhere.”
Ike’s thumb and forefinger stroked his beard. “I see.”
“I hope you do, Ike.
Your girls respect you. They will listen if you provide guidance.”
“Of course they would. There can be no question of that. But I am sorry to hear you feel this is necessary.”
“It’s best for everyone, I believe.”
“It’s because of that outsider.”
Rufus squelched a sigh. Though it still irked, Ike’s response was no surprise. “This has only to do with me, I assure you. Please do not blame Annalise.”
“You defend her quite quickly, I notice.”
“Annalise needs no defending.”
“I understand your reluctance about the younger girls, but Beth is mature enough to be a wife.”
“I’m sure she is, and I hope she will meet someone soon.”
Ike huffed. “Well, then. I suppose you are no more particular than you have ever been, or you would have married before you left Pennsylvania.”
Rufus put his hands out, palms up. “I felt I should tell you. If you like, I will speak to Beth.”
“She is still my daughter and under my care. I will speak to her.”
Rufus turned his steps back toward the house. “Perhaps we should have a last cup of coffee.”
Rufus discovered the boys had left to take a walk as well. In the living room, sitting among the Stutzman sisters, Annalise looked desperate for rescuing. At least he would get to drive her home.
On Monday afternoon, Annie tooled around town on her bicycle with a list of errands. Mrs. Weichert had decided to run an ad for a 20 percent off sale in the newspaper. She insisted on delivering the ad the same way she always had—an old-fashioned piece of original art, which her daughter had created with careful lettering. Annie tried to explain that the newspaper would likely scan and digitize the ad anyway, but Mrs. Weichert was not interested in the conversation. She seemed to prefer living in the century in which most of her shop’s goods had originated.
Once that was delivered, Annie crossed the street and went down a couple of blocks to the narrow storefront library. The sturdy but kind librarian had called the shop earlier in the day to let Annie know her interlibrary loan book had arrived from a university in Indiana. Annie had found a notation referencing this book in a footnote of another equally obscure title that had come through the shop serendipitously more than six weeks ago. The deeper she got into Beiler—or Byler—genealogy, the stronger its vortex churned. Who knew what the new title would reveal?
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