In the back room, she got down to work, admiring the vegetables in her small garden on the other side of the window. While her scissors snipped the material, the ceiling fan circulated all sorts of earthy aromas throughout the shop.
There was the smell of oak from the wooden, hand-carved buggies she’d recently set out on display. She breathed in the fresh, familiar smell and smiled.
There were sachets. A cinnamon candle. And the heavenly aroma of fresh bread that Hannah had baked and wrapped very early that morning.
She focused on her quilt. She bunched a small square, gathered the material, and inserted her needle and thread, and began connecting the pieces to another square.
She stopped a moment to organize the numerous spools of thread in her large, compartmented organizer, breathing in the pleasant aroma of the spice. She sold it in small containers, but this particular scent emanated from the homemade burning kandl near her cash register in the middle of the shop.
After sighing satisfaction, she eyed the wooden organizer that had been last year’s Christmas gift from her brother, Ben, and his wife, Ruth.
As Hannah ran her gaze over the enormous piece of material stretched out on her wooden frame, she pressed her lips together thoughtfully. She could hear the tin pans on both sides of the garden as the light breeze caused them to meet.
The large faux owl perched on top of one pole had been given to her by her daed when he’d learned that Hannah’s garden appeared to be a popular gathering place for rabbits. A faux snake on the outskirts of the rapidly growing plants served the same purpose. Past experience had taught her that the movement helped to keep away insects and rabbits.
Because she preferred things natural, she didn’t use pesticides. Beyond the garden, the county blacktop went on for miles throughout the Arthur-Arcola countryside. Every once in a while, she’d glimpse a car or a horse-drawn buggy traveling the narrow, uneven road.
Anxious to proceed on her project, she refocused her gaze in front of her and smiled with satisfaction. Automatically, past projects flitted through her mind. The navy-and-white quilt she’d completed a couple of months ago for Ben and Ruth, to celebrate the large home they’d purchased. The creamy shades of white she’d done six months ago for a friend’s wedding.
She parted her lips in awe as she recalled their simple yet exquisite beauty. Then she assessed the piece in front of her and narrowed her brows. This one differed in many ways.
And there was a plausible reason why. She’d routinely designed her quilts for certain people. But this time, amazingly, there was no recipient, yet, for her most beautiful, special work. Because of that, she’d chosen her personal favorite colors, three hues of blue. The blend that she would select for herself.
A nature lover, she had always been taken in by the sky’s different shades. Especially deep blue, which reminded her of a cloudless summer sky. As she created the quilt, she dreamed of eventually presenting her very best work to someone so extremely special and watching that person’s expression while they unwrapped it. Who will it be? Who is special enough for this gorgeous work?
A reddish-brown face appeared on the other side of the glass. A scratching sound followed. Hannah immediately went to unlock and then open the back door.
As usual, the stray kitten stepped inside. Hannah closed and locked the door behind her, bending to stroke the soft fur. “Scarlet, you’re lucky I adore you.” She wagged a finger at the cat. “But don’t you dare tell Maemm I let you in.”
The feline made its way to the small pillow Hannah kept in the corner of the room. Following normal protocol, Hannah proceeded to the nearby bathroom sink, where she filled a small plastic container with water and placed it in front of her furry friend.
Back at her project, she glanced at the corner before cutting a piece of thread. “Come lunchtime, I’ll share my chicken salad with you.”
A meow followed. With great care to make her lines even, Hannah hand-stitched the fresh pieces together. In the back room of Amish Edibles, she smiled approval at the beautiful material in front of her while she enjoyed the warm breeze from the ceiling fan’s blades. No doubt someone would most likely store this quilt in a large hope chest.
She turned to the corner to check on her friend, who had made herself comfortable on the soft cushion. “Or maybe, Scarlet, they’ll decide to snuggle up under this warm, thick cotton fabric every night.”
After a light shrug of her shoulders, she went on, as if the cat could understand everything she said. “Whatever the case, I have no doubt that this project will bring joy to somebody.”
Her beloved hope chest immediately popped into her mind. The mere thought of it brought a warmth up her arms and landed comfortably in her shoulders. For a moment, she gently closed her eyes and enjoyed the sweet sensation.
Her hope chest had been designed by the well-known late Sam Beachy. Maemm and Daed had given it to her shortly after Sam’s death. It had been her eighteenth birthday, and they had planned to invite Old Sam to their home for dinner that night.
Old Sam had been down with pneumonia and had eventually passed on to heaven. Hannah appreciated every bit of love and creativity the famed hope chest maker had invested in her unique wooden piece of art.
He’d been blessed with great creative talent; everyone around had heard of his work. He’d skillfully carved the Ten Commandments into the lid of her particular chest.
The needle stuck Hannah’s thumb. “Ouch.” She gave her finger a quick shake to rid it of the pain. “That will teach me to pay attention to what I’m doing.”
But as she continued working, the miniature hope chest, which she kept beside her bed, remained in her thoughts. The inside of the oak structure had enough room for the things Hannah considered special enough to put in it; at the same time, it was small and light enough to easily move across her room.
However, so far, the chest was empty. Even so, Hannah enjoyed the woodsy oak scent. She also loved touching the deep-blue velvet that lined the inside.
Definitely, she planned to save her most valuable possessions for the chest. Things that Maemm would pass down to her, and that she, in turn, would pass down to the daughters she planned to bear.
But she was selective, and so far, nothing qualified to be in the most special gift she’d ever received.
After admiring the beautiful colors, she measured another square with a ruler, and her heart picked up a notch of speed. But not because of the particular passion in front of her. No. The upward curve of her lips and the excited skip of her heart was brought on by her other love.
The Adventures of Sydney and Carson.
She’d often imagined herself as Sydney, and Mary Conrad’s brother, Jonah, who worked with his daed at Conrad Cabinets, as Carson. Oddly, at that moment, she had no interest in Jonah.
Hannah hummed under her breath as she tidied the pile of backings before stepping to the cash register area, where she pulled her most recent adventure stories from near the cash register, sat down, and began to read.
As she did, Hannah couldn’t stop thinking about Marcus Jackson as she held The Adventures of Sydney and Carson in front of her, resting the paperback on the area that housed the cash drawers. She bent closer to the pages, reading faster and faster while the two fictitious characters sought shelter from a fire that had seized the Grovers’ home.
She imagined someone with strong arms, arms that could lift huge, heavy bales of hay and carry her away from the fire. For some reason, she now replaced Jonah with Marcus. She raised an inquisitive brow. Probably because I just met him, she reasoned. And because he was so enamored with my quilt.
On the printed pages, the flame grew. The fire was catching them. As she imagined Marcus carrying her away from a blazing fire, the crunching of gravel interrupted her. She stopped and looked out the window. Automatically, she did what she always did when there was a customer.
She pulled her homemade bookmark from its spot beneath the cash register, stuck it in her paperbac
k, closed the cover, and shoved it on the shelf to her right.
Her pulse pumped to a nervous beat and her hands shook a little, not just because of the excitement in the story, but also because the sound had caught her off guard, and she did her utmost to keep the series she loved top secret. She did so for two reasons.
The first was because Maemm had made it clear that she disapproved of fiction. If Hannah was going to spend her Gott-given time reading, Maemm preferred the print to be the Holy Bible. Secondly, Hannah intended to keep her dream of being in an adventure story to herself. The stories were so precious in her own imagination, sharing them would surely spoil some of her excitement.
Because of those two things, the books were her secret and hers alone.
When she glanced out the front window for the source of the crunching sound, a car appeared to merely turn around. She smiled satisfaction when it was back on the blacktop.
With the exception of a couple of slow weeks, summer was a busy time for Amish Edibles. Tourists interested in the Amish frequented Arthur for buggy rides, tours, and other things. But the three weeks prior to Thanksgiving and the month leading up to Christmas were by far the times she and Maemm did most of their business. Most of the time, Hannah manned the shop she owned with her parents.
Fortunately, the Welcome Center offered flyers that advertised Amish Edibles, as well as sign-ups for Amish homecooked meals, buggy rides, and shops nearby that sold beautiful handmade furniture.
Nine of her ten brothers and their families were well-known in the area for their family store, Lapp Furniture. Her daed had started it years before and was in charge. And they also carved special trinkets for interested visitors who craved Amish handmade goods. Ben was a welder at Cabot, the company that apparently had hired Marcus.
Conrad Cabinets had recently expanded their inventory, too, and people from all over the United States went there for custom-made furniture and cabinets. Fortunately, there was plenty of business for everyone.
Hannah’s thought drifted back to Marcus Jackson. Fully aware that she’d just met him, she acknowledged that she indeed considered him a friend. Talking about her quilt and his late mother had somehow struck a bond between them. And Hannah couldn’t wait to see him again.
Chapter Two
Outside Amish Edibles, Marcus enjoyed the warm breeze that fanned his eyelashes. As he turned around to get another look at the small shop, he could see beautiful Hannah as she headed back to her cash register.
His eyes followed her as he considered the young woman he felt he’d known all his life. He glanced down at the paper she’d given him before putting it in his pocket and getting into his car. Ben Lapp.
But his thoughts immediately returned to Hannah and her warm smile. He wished she hadn’t been wearing a head covering so he could’ve checked out her chestnut-colored hair. Automatically, he wondered how it looked down, and if it went lower than her shoulders.
And her bland navy dress and sturdy black shoes. He lifted a curious brow as he turned the key in the ignition and pressed two levers to lower the front windows. He had already learned that the Amish called themselves the Plain Faith, that their less-than-flattering clothes weren’t designed to make the women beautiful, but that the purpose of their bland dress was so people would appreciate them for their inner beauty.
He noticed the lone Standardbred and the black shiny buggy, a sharp contrast to the small, cluttered parking lot of the busy Citgo Mart where he usually bought his lunch in the city. As he pulled out onto the blacktop, he eyed the openness of the vast countryside.
As fresh air came in through the windows, he considered the fields of corn and soybeans on both sides and thoughtfully compared it to his former surroundings. Here, it was . . . quiet. There was so much space. He pressed his lips together thoughtfully because he wasn’t yet convinced that was a bad thing.
In the vast countryside of winding roads, two-story farm homes, and crops, this was the first shop he’d come across that sold food. At least, the words “Amish Edibles” had indicated that there were things to eat.
As he drove in the direction of Cabot, with the help of his GPS, his thoughts quickly returned to Hannah. And he’d, hopefully, get a chance to speak to her brother about his rental.
This young woman’s enthusiasm and kind effort to help him told him that she definitely possessed inner beauty. And as far as exterior beauty? His smile widened a notch. God definitely had been generous to her. He’d noted chestnut-colored wisps that had carelessly escaped her head cover. Her eyes were the same shade, only a slightly richer hue. What piqued his interest, though, wasn’t her outer appearance, but the genuine enthusiasm and energy evidenced in her voice.
He didn’t know much about her, but what he was sure of was the memory evoked by the three shades of blue in her quilt. Amazingly, the gorgeous hues were a reminder of a blanket his late mother had sewn for him. He blinked at the salty sting of tears. He swallowed an uncomfortable knot in his throat.
But the special gift from the person he’d loved most in the world had been much more than merely a soft bedcovering to clutch in his hands and hold close to him. The shades represented what his mom had referred to as the three parts of life. The lightest, she’d told him in her clear, teacher’s voice, represented a person’s young years.
The medium color represented middle age, and the darkest, the color of a stormy summer sky, one’s final years.
Marcus blinked at the emotional sting of tears. Only God could create such colors in the sky. At that moment, the miracle of what had happened to him only a month ago stirred in his head until unexplainable joy filled him. The amazing, unexpected moment he’d accepted Christ as his Savior rushed back to him, and his heart warmed. The moment’s stress quickly evaporated, like steam from a teakettle.
Despite his fears and uncertainty, he immediately acknowledged that there was much to celebrate. One by one, he ticked off what came to mind. His excellent health. His energy. That he’d had the best of the best as far as recommendations to step into a new job. That his cash should last about three months.
He quickly straightened in his seat and squared his shoulders. Stay tough. Like Dad taught me. I’ll fit in here. God will set me on the right path because I’m doing what my mom always taught me, to follow my heart.
* * *
That evening, inside her family’s kitchen, Hannah contemplated her new friend as she sprinkled flour on egg noodle dough and continued to gently roll it out into a square that reached all four corners of the cloth sheet. Maemm had always stressed rolling as little as possible so the dough wouldn’t be tough.
And she heeded her role model’s advice. Because Maemm was considered one of the best cooks around. When the mixture reached all sides of the pastry cloth, she put down the roller, rinsed the flour dust from her palms, wiped them on a hand towel, and proceeded to cut the dough into lines. Because they preferred thick noodles, she made generous spaces between the lines.
Why did Marcus leave the city? Why did he choose Arthur as his new home? Would he rent her brother’s small house?
In the background, five of her nephews chased one another in a game of tag. The laughter became so loud, Hannah knew she had to quiet them before Maemm strode down the stairs.
Letting out a sigh, Hannah squared her shoulders, turned, and proceeded toward the group, but before she got out a word, Maemm’s stern voice commanded the kids to stop running in the house.
Immediately, the room quieted, and the children stopped in their tracks. Afterward, Maemm stepped into the kitchen, and the boys rolled out of the side door, where they continued their game. Hannah could hear their happy voices and see the sets of bare feet running in all directions in the large yard. A wide dirt path led to the old red barn.
Before continuing her noodles, Hannah stepped to the large battery fan to get relief from the intense summer heat. She closed her eyes a moment while the blades whipped around in circles and the air gently caressed her forehead a
nd cheeks.
Maemm’s voice prompted Hannah to open her eyes. “Sure is turning out to be a hot summer.”
“Jah.”
“And the forecast says no rain for another week. But Gott will make sure our vegetables make it.”
“He always has.”
The unexpected snapping sound made Hannah jump. When she saw the source of the noise, an amused smile tugged at the corners of her lips.
“Got ’em!” Great satisfaction edged Maemm’s voice as she looked down at the floor where she stood, fly swatter in hand. Past experience had taught Hannah that any fly her mother targeted was doomed to die.
And Hannah guessed Maemm’s mission wasn’t complete. She was fully aware that swatting flies was common. But to Maemm, ridding the house of flying insects seemed to be a sport.
When their gazes locked, Hannah offered a nod of congratulations. “Gut.”
As Hannah had been about to tell her mother about the Englischer who had been at their shop, Maemm quickly became distracted by another buzzing insect that circled her head.
Hannah was convinced that Maemm loved swatting flies every bit as much as Hannah enjoyed The Adventures of Sydney and Carson. Imagining herself in the female role, with a hero who helped her to save and protect, made her happy. It offered her a great sense of satisfaction, even if her role was fictitious.
Hannah was fully aware that Gott had created everyone with different interests. And her role model’s was definitely keeping the house free of flies. Which was difficult, considering the large number of times the side door was opened throughout the day.
A sigh of acceptance escaped Hannah’s throat while she continued cutting noodles. At the same time, the delicious aroma of baked chicken floated through the kitchen. Hannah could use the bags of noodles she’d already dried out. In fact, she’d learned that they sold quickly in her shop, and that homemade noodles were every bit as popular with the locals as they were with tourists.
But this time, she preferred a fresh batch. She arched a curious brow. Automatically, she wondered if Marcus cooked. What he did in his spare time. And what on earth he was doing in this neck of the woods. Hopefully, eventually, she’d find out more about him.
Promise at Pebble Creek Page 2
