“I like quilting. It’s fun, not like making clothes. I enjoy picking out the colors and the patterns and matching them together. Mamm says—” Miriam caught herself, and her fingers stilled. For a second, the kitchen was heavy with silence, then she drew a breath and continued, “Mamm used to say there was a lot of satisfaction in bringing order and beauty out of a bunch of scraps. I agree with her.”
Pretending to focus on her own square, Naomi watched Miriam blot a tear from her eye, then resume her sewing with trembling fingers. Naomi started to speak but thought better of it. Instead, she drew a soft, slow breath and returned her attention to moving the needle in and out of the fabric pressed between her thumb and forefinger.
Even when a person had her faith to cling to, grief was hard going. There were no words Naomi could say to make it easier. Best simply to pray silently that Gott would comfort Miriam’s heart as only He could do.
Miriam glanced toward the battery-operated clock ticking on the kitchen wall. “Rhoda has been gone a long time to gather the eggs, ain’t so? Do you think she’s all right?”
“Likely she’s found something else that needed doing while she was outside. You know how that goes.”
Miriam’s stitching slowed to a stop. “I should have gone myself. Tending the chickens is my job. But,” she faltered, “going outside . . . I just couldn’t. I know there’s not near so many folks down by the road now, but still . . .”
“That’s all right, Miriam.” Naomi looked the other girl in the eye. “You’ve been getting dressed and coming downstairs every day, and you’re sure doing a better job of quilting than I am. The rest will come in Gott’s good time. Rhoda did not mind going for the eggs today, and soon enough you’ll be collecting them yourself. Like you said, there are hardly any reporters hanging round anymore. Before long, they’ll all be gone.”
“But there are still a few. What if one of them bothers her? I know that Englischer scared you the other day. I saw it in your face when Rhoda brought in the pie pan.”
Naomi flinched. Nobody had mentioned the pie again, and she’d hoped it had been forgotten.
“I wasn’t frightened,” she assured Miriam quickly. “He just surprised me, that’s all. He was very polite. Nobody’s going to pester Rhoda, so don’t fret yourself. Anyhow, Joseph’s out there, and he’ll let no harm come to her.”
“Ja, that’s true.” Miriam relaxed against the back of her chair. “He’s always been fond of her. For a while Emma and I thought . . . but then Rhoda chose Caleb. And now Joseph loves Rhoda as a sister, and he wouldn’t let anybody bother her, not if he could help it.”
Naomi recalled the look on Joseph’s face that awful day when Rhoda had driven up to Katie’s home, disheveled and beside herself. Naomi’s heart thumped painfully, and she bent her head, forcing herself to focus on her quilt square.
She didn’t share Miriam’s love of quilting—or her skill. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t make her stitches like her companion’s tiny and uniform little dashes. Muffling a sigh, Naomi reached for another triangle to add to her growing star.
She wouldn’t argue with Miriam, of course, but personally Naomi would rather make a dress or a shirt any day. When you made clothes, it didn’t matter so much if your sewing wasn’t perfect. The stitches were just supposed to do their duty and hold the fabric together. Nobody cared if they were pretty or not, and that made the work peaceful.
She came to the end of her thread, tied a knot, and clipped it off. As she reached for the spool, she noticed Miriam staring at the clock again, her sewing limp in her hands. Miriam caught Naomi’s eye and looked embarrassed.
“I always got back in from the chicken coop in about ten minutes,” she explained sheepishly. “Rhoda has been gone for twice that already.”
Likely Rhoda was only stealing a few moments of privacy. Nobody knew exactly where Caleb had gone after he’d left the Lambrights’ home, and no one had heard from him since. Rhoda was doing her best to be calm and cheerful in front of Miriam, but of course she must be worried. “I’m sure Rhoda is all right, but if you want, I will go check on her.”
Miriam bit her lip, plainly uncertain about being left alone in the house. Finally, her concern for Rhoda overrode her fear. “Ja, go. But please be careful, and come back quick, all right?” She plucked Naomi’s unfinished quilt square from her fingers. “I’ll finish this for you while you’re gone.” She tilted the basket to check the remaining scraps. “We’ll need more fabric soon if we’re going to make enough squares for a full-size spread. Between the three of us, we’ve nearly got these pieced already.”
Naomi laughed. “That’s mostly your and Rhoda’s doing. I’m afraid I’m little help.”
“That’s not true! You help more than you know. It’s wonderful kind of you to sit and quilt with me, Naomi, especially since I can tell you don’t enjoy it.”
“I enjoy being with you, and that’s what counts. Pleasant company makes everything better.” Naomi winked. “Even quilting.” She rose and collected her shawl from the peg by the door. “I’ll hurry back.”
Miriam nodded and bent over the bright bits of fabric as Naomi slipped out into the chilly yard.
There was a damp promise in the air, more like rain than snow. Maybe she’d make soup tonight, Naomi thought, as she hurried across the brown grass toward the coop. There were plenty of canned vegetables down cellar. She’d seen them when she went for the pickles on the day of the funeral. Soup would be warming on a day like this, served bubbling hot with a cast iron skillet of crisp cornbread. It would scent the air while it simmered, too, and that was such a comforting thing on a wintry day.
She was mentally ticking through the ingredients for her mamm’s favorite vegetable soup recipe by the time she got to the coop. She reached for the door latch, then halted as she heard Rhoda’s tearful voice inside, mingled with the satisfied clucks of well-fed chickens.
“Caleb, you don’t mean what you’re saying! You can’t see past your anger. Daed says if you will only put your trust in Gott, in time this grief will ease, and—”
“I don’t want to hear what your father thinks, Rhoda. I’ve had more than enough of that already. I don’t care how much Isaac preaches at me, I won’t stand by and see the man who murdered my parents go free. I’ll track Trevor Abbott down myself if I have to.”
There was a short silence, punctuated by Rhoda’s soft, sobbing gasps.
When Caleb spoke again, there was a frustrated edge to his voice. “You still haven’t answered my question. Are you coming with me or not?”
“Caleb.” Rhoda’s voice broke on her husband’s name. “Please, don’t ask me this. I can’t—I can’t choose between you and my faith.”
“You’re going to have to because I’m leaving either way. With you or without you.”
Horrified, Naomi backed away from the coop. She had to get Joseph.
When she burst through the door of the woodworking shop, Joseph glanced up from the rocking chair he was piecing together.
“What’s wrong, Naomi? Is it Miriam?”
She shook her head breathlessly. Somewhere in the back of her mind, it registered that she shouldn’t be struggling so hard to breathe after such a short sprint. “Caleb’s in the chicken coop with Rhoda. He’s jumping the fence, Joseph, and he wants her to go with him.”
Joseph set the curved bit of wood down on a nearby shelf and started for the door. As he passed her, his face grim with frustration, he muttered, “So Isaac was right. No surprise there. My bruder spreads trouble like a head cold.”
As they left the shop, they saw Rhoda running toward the house, her hands pressed to her face. Joseph watched her for a minute, then, shaking his head, he strode toward the coop.
Naomi followed Rhoda, her heart still chittering oddly in her chest. Naomi sent up a fervent prayer that Joseph would be able to talk sense into his brother. I
f he couldn’t, if Caleb renounced his baptism now, he would pile sorrow upon sorrow for his family and his community.
When Naomi hurried through the back porch, she found Miriam standing frozen, clutching the back of a chair so tightly that her knuckles were white. Beside her on the table, the quilting basket was tipped on its side, bright squares spilling out recklessly.
“Naomi? Rhoda—she just ran through crying.” Miriam’s voice shook. “Those Englischers—”
“Nee,” Naomi broke in quickly. She placed a reassuring hand on her friend’s arm. “It was nothing like that, truly. It was only Caleb. He came by, and they argued, that’s all.”
“They argued?” Miriam asked with difficulty. Her breath was coming far too fast, and she looked to be on the brink of one of her attacks. “About what?”
“You’re upsetting yourself, Miriam. You should sit down.”
“Caleb’s leaving us, ain’t so? That’s why Rhoda’s crying.” Miriam’s whole body trembled as she waited for Naomi’s answer.
Naomi gently stroked Miriam’s sleeve. “Caleb’s upset, but Joseph is talking to him.”
“It won’t do any good,” Miriam whispered. “Daed was the only one Caleb ever listened to, and Daed’s not here.”
Naomi’s heart sank at her friend’s bleak expression. All the wunderbaar progress they’d made was slipping away like water down a drain.
“Miriam, let’s not worry ourselves. Things may come right yet. Why don’t we finish off these quilt squares before supper? If you help me, maybe I can even get mine sewn right-side-up the first time.”
“I can’t.” Miriam was gasping quick and hard like a frightened sparrow. “Not right now. I have to . . . I have to go upstairs.”
“Maybe we should try our special breathing. Come on, I’ll count. One—”
“Ich kann naett!” Miriam’s voice was sharp with desperation. She shook off Naomi’s hand and stumbled toward the steps.
“I’ll come with you.”
“Nee! I need to be alone. Please, just . . . leave me be, Naomi.” Miriam ran up the steps, and a few seconds later, her door slammed shut.
Naomi struggled with a sinking disappointment as she gathered the teacups for washing. It was too bad. Things had been going so well.
As Naomi set the cups and saucers beside the sink, her eye caught on a bit of brightness on the floor. A finished quilt square lay crumpled beside Miriam’s chair.
Naomi picked it up and turned it over in her hands. Sure enough, there were her childish stitches, looking all the more crooked next to Miriam’s perfect ones. In all the confusion, someone had stepped on it, pressing dirt into the dainty colors.
Oh, what a shame, Naomi thought sadly. What a terrible, terrible shame.
Chapter Twelve
Even before Joseph ducked into the chicken coop, he was frustrated. There was plenty he’d like to say to his brother right now, but none of it was particularly kind. He had no idea how to approach this in the way Isaac had suggested, but he had to try.
Caleb stood in the corner of the small building, Mamm’s plump black-and-white hens milling around his feet. His gaze was fixed on the half-filled egg basket his wife had left behind on the earthen floor, and he didn’t look up when Joseph entered. “If you’ve come to lecture me, bruder, you can save your breath.”
“Fine. You do the talking, then. You can start by telling me why your fraw just ran across the yard, crying.”
“Rhoda doesn’t understand.” Caleb moved restlessly, startling the hens closest to his boots. They squawked and flapped their wings before settling back to their pecking and scratching. “None of you do.”
“Maybe you should explain.”
“All right.” Caleb looked up and met his gaze squarely. “I will. The Abbotts are hiding Trevor, Joseph. They’re using their money and their friends to squirrel him away someplace while they wait for things to calm down.”
Joseph frowned. “Do you know this for fact, or do you only suspect it?”
“Everybody knows it. A wealthy family like that? They’re not about to just turn their son over to the police.”
Joseph paused, choosing his tone carefully. “Things everybody knows usually come from gossip, Caleb. If there’s any truth in such talk at all, it’s likely not much.”
“I knew you wouldn’t listen.”
“I am listening. I just think . . .” Joseph trailed off, fumbling for the right words, words Caleb might actually hear. “I think pain and anger keep a person from seeing clear sometimes, that’s all.”
His brother made an impatient noise. “You sound like my wife.”
“And you sound like you’re the one who’s not willing to listen.” The sharp words came too quickly for Joseph to stop them. His brother’s expression darkened.
“I’m telling you, the Abbotts are lying to all of us.” Caleb dug into the pocket of his pants. “Look at this, and maybe you’ll see what I mean.”
“What are you doing with a cell phone?” Joseph watched his brother swipe a finger across the tiny screen, making the device light up. How many other rules had Caleb skirted since his baptism? Plenty, Joseph figured. Frustration and impatience knotted heavily together in the pit of his stomach.
When Caleb held the phone out in his direction, Joseph made no move to accept it. “Whatever it is, I don’t need to see it.”
“You can’t hide from this, Joseph. Not for much longer anyhow. There are stories all over the Internet, crazy stories about Emma, about Daed and Mamm. They’re saying there was more to it, that Emma and Trevor were in love and that Daed had forbidden it. That he was beating Emma because of it. Beating her, Joseph, our daed! That Trevor was only protecting her, doing what he did.”
Joseph felt a metallic sickness rising in the back of his throat. He swallowed hard. “So? Let them tell their lies. It makes no difference to us.”
“Ja, it does. I think the Abbotts are behind these new stories. They want to make Mamm and Daed out to be in the wrong, so people will have more sympathy for Trevor. At the start of this, the public stood with us, but now, as these lies are sneaking out, opinion is starting to turn. They’re making Trevor into some kind of hero.”
“That would take more than a few silly stories, surely. People cannot be so dumm as that.”
“You think not? Do you know why you haven’t seen any sheriff’s deputies driving by this morning?”
“There aren’t so many reporters here today. They aren’t needed.”
“They’re needed elsewhere. Somebody spray-painted hateful words on half the store windows in Johns Mill last night—the ones belonging to the Plain folks. The police are in town taking pictures and trying to figure out who did it.”
Stunned, Joseph weighed his brother’s words. Isaac hadn’t mentioned any such thing when he’d dropped Rhoda off earlier this morning, and the bishop surely would have known about it. Then again, maybe Isaac had kept this disturbing news to himself, feeling the Hochstedlers had enough trouble on their plates already.
“I am sorry to hear of it, but we can’t control how others feel about us nor what they do, Caleb. We can only control how we answer, and Gott calls us to answer with—”
“Forgiveness, ja,” his brother interrupted impatiently. “I’ve sat through the same sermons you have, Joseph. Maybe that worked in the past, but the world has changed. Plain folk can’t keep sticking their heads in the sand and refusing to stand up for themselves, not if they want their families to survive.”
They. Their. Joseph’s heart twisted at his brother’s choice of words. Caleb had already separated himself from the rest of them. “It isn’t our way to return evil for evil.”
“Justice isn’t evil. Stop spouting church doctrine and just listen to me for a minute. We’ve never questioned that Gott uses us to bless our neighbors. You’d be the first to help a man put out a fire i
n his barn, or help a widow bring in a crop her husband’s death left standing in their field. We don’t think of those things as stepping on the fingers of Gott, do we? Why should helping Him bring about justice be any different?”
Joseph wasn’t sure how to answer that question, so he sidestepped it. “You knew the positions of the church before you were baptized, Caleb. That was the season for questions and doubts. Now’s the time to set such things aside and trust the guidelines of our faith.”
“Right now, I see little there worth trusting.”
Joseph’s breath was coming hard and quick. Dealing with his brother’s stubbornness was like trying to cut a rock with a butter knife. “So what are you figuring to do, Caleb? Turn your back on your church? On your family?” When he got no answer, Joseph pressed on, “What about Rhoda? Will you turn your back on her, too?”
Caleb’s eyes cut to him sharply. “That’s my business, bruder, not yours.”
“Maybe not my business, but certainly Rhoda’s. These consequences you’re courting will fall on her head as well as your own.”
“Ja, there will be plenty of consequences for us but none for Trevor Abbott. I know you’ve no particular fondness for Englischers, bruder. In that one way you were always more like Melvin than Daed. How can this seem right to you?”
“Caleb—”
“He shot our father, Joseph. Daed, who was so tenderhearted that he hated to put down a suffering animal. He shot Daed first, they say, which means Mamm saw it. Then that boy turned his gun on our mother and shot her. Twice.”
“Schtopp.” Joseph squeezed his eyes shut, but the images Caleb’s words brought into his mind remained. A wave of pain and grief swelled and staggered him.
“And Miriam,” Caleb continued relentlessly. “She may never get over what happened, as sensitive as she is, but she’s lucky even to be alive.”
“Nee.” Joseph set his jaw and clamped hard onto the fraying lifeline of his faith. “It wasn’t luck, Caleb. It was Gott’s provision that Miriam was spared. We must focus on that and be thankful.”
Shelter in the Storm Page 11
