“Da Herr sei mit du.” The Lord be with you.
She prayed that He was.
* * *
* * *
LUKE GENTLY TUGGED at the top of a strip of wallpaper in his dining room. One corner already peeling, it came loose easily, but seeing what was beneath it, he groaned. Another layer of wallpaper. The second layer looked much older, which meant it would be more difficult to remove. Strippable wallpaper had not been a concept when this house was built in 1904. There was no saying he wouldn’t find a third layer beneath.
When he bought the house, he’d known he was taking on a great deal of work. At his request, the power company came out right away and removed the wire feeding electricity to the house. He had had to replace an aging stove, refrigerator, and hot-water heater immediately with propane-powered appliances, and have a propane tank installed. The people who lived here must have loved wallpaper. Luke hadn’t realized how difficult it could be to strip from the walls.
The Amish had plain walls in their homes. They didn’t decorate with wallpaper or artwork, any more than the women wore makeup or jewelry, or the men built or purchased buggies painted bright colors. They accepted the Ordnung as the bishop interpreted it.
A knock on his front door was followed by a voice before he could climb down.
“Luke? Are you here? Mamm said you need help.”
“I’m in the dining room,” he called back. “The job is fun.”
His brother, just turned twenty-five, appeared in the arched opening to the hall. “No-o,” he moaned. “She didn’t say what you were working on.”
“Come on! You’re an expert after helping me with the kitchen. With two of us working, this will be nothing.”
Elam’s gaze went to the corner where Luke had peeled the first strip. “There’s more under there!”
“The house was built a hundred and fifteen years ago. There might be many layers.”
Elam whimpered but said, “I’ll get another ladder.”
Luke called after him. “You know where the scrapers are.”
Truly the work did go faster after that. It helped to have someone to talk to. Elam had been twelve when Luke left, only a boy. Now they had to get to know each other all over again. Initially sulky and uncommunicative, Elam had warmed to the brother who had repented of his sins. When Luke first came home, Elam had been working in their father’s furniture-making business, but that’s not what he wanted to do with his life, so he had been grateful rather than resentful to be replaced. He now worked for a relatively prosperous Amish farmer, and hoped to buy his own land someday.
Three hours later, they had removed the first layer, and dampened one wall with a vinegar and hot-water mixture before scraping it. The last part had been by far the hardest, but there hadn’t been a third layer. Luke studied the blotchy wall, satisfied with the progress. Once it dried, he’d still have to sand it before painting, but it was good that plaster underlay the wallpaper. He liked the look of it better than wallboard.
Of course, there were three more walls to go, not to mention three bedrooms and two bathrooms still wallpapered. There was no great hurry, fortunately; Bishop Amos understood that progress would be slow. In every room, Luke had to remove light switches and electrical outlets, filling the holes with wallboard to which he would add a thin sheet of plaster. The floors should be refinished, too, and the exterior painted.
Then there were the blackberries.
“Let’s go home to eat,” Elam suggested. “Mamm and Miriam will have been cooking all morning. They’re holding a quilt frolic this afternoon.”
Luke’s stomach growled. He had stuffed himself yesterday, staying for two meals. He still hadn’t readjusted to the enormous meals his mother put on the table, but eating all his childhood favorites had been a pleasure. That Julia would be there caused him to feel disquiet, but he had to get used to her in his life, however small a part that was.
“Schnitz und knepp?” he asked. He’d found good shoofly pie and butter cookies in cafés and bakeries, but never dried-apple dumplings like his mamm’s.
Elam laughed. “Come on! You know Mamm.”
* * *
* * *
SITTING IN THE busy kitchen, at the table where she’d been consigned after her offer to help with the meal was refused, Julia kept a smile on her mouth even though she felt as if she didn’t belong. And perhaps uncomfortable because she wasn’t accustomed to this kind of crowd.
Women paused to speak to her, but she could tell what an effort it was for them to speak English. Luke and Eli were so fluent, they’d spoiled her.
She’d immediately noticed all the usual appliances in the kitchen, although presumably these were powered by propane rather than electricity. Earlier, Luke’s mother had used a hand-cranked blender that obviously worked fine. None of this should have surprised her after seeing the workshop behind the store; just as the men had made adaptations to allow them to use the same tools Englischers did, so had the women in their kitchens.
She smiled stiffly at another strongly accented greeting. What really felt odd was to look so different than everyone else here. She was dressed wrong, her hair was exposed, and she didn’t even recognize the smell of some of the dishes being placed in big crockery bowls on the table.
A young man came in the back door just then and said something to Deborah Bowman, who had to be his mother. He looked like a younger version of Luke.
What she hadn’t expected was to see Luke come in the back door with his father.
His gaze went right to her. Of course he’d known about the invitation. Anyway, he would have seen her car when he arrived. Mixed emotions showed on his face: resignation, reluctance, and more she couldn’t identify. It stung to know he didn’t want her here, but she kept her chin high and her shoulders squared. She’d been invited, and he could stuff it if he wasn’t happy. She knew from Miriam that he had his own house, so why was he here?
“Sitz! Sitz!” his mother called, setting the crowd into motion. It was rather like a dance, everyone finding seats even as a few of the women were still putting food on the table.
Miriam pulled out a chair next to Julia, to her relief. They exchanged smiles before she turned her head. To her shock, Luke had taken the seat on her other side. He bent his head in acknowledgment.
She wasn’t sure she even did that before she fumbled with her napkin and thanked a woman whose name she couldn’t remember for the coffee she was pouring.
Within moments, everyone was seated. When Eli murmured, “Händt nunna,” they bowed their heads and she followed suit for the ensuing silent prayer. Not until cutlery clattered did Julia dare raise her head. Eli had lifted his hands to his cutlery. Had he said Hands down?
“Do you pray before meals?” Luke asked in that quiet, deep voice.
“Yes, my family always has.” She smiled weakly. “At home, we say the words aloud, though.”
“We each pray in our own way. Many of us say the Lord’s Prayer.” He recited it to her, and she drank in the familiar words.
“Thank you,” she said, hoping for a smile, but his expression remained reserved, grave.
Miriam chattered as the serving bowls began to circulate, but eventually turned to her other brother. For all that Julia suspected Luke didn’t want her here, he quietly identified many of the dishes as he handed them to her.
There were pickled beets, scalloped tomatoes, ham, pork with sauerkraut, hot potato salad, applesauce, and home-baked bread. The variety of choices was astonishing. She didn’t want to offend anyone, but she couldn’t possibly eat even a sample of every dish that went past.
“Save some room for dessert,” he suggested at one point.
Her expression brought a glimmer of humor to his blue eyes.
The moment the meal was over, the men rose together and went out the back door. Luke didn’t even sa
y goodbye.
Julia’s offer to help clear the table was declined.
“No, no! You’re a guest. Just”—that sounded more like chust—“relax.”
Miriam rescued her, taking her to the living room where the quilt, batting, and backing were already stretched in a quilt rack. Eight chairs surrounded the quilt.
“Oh, my,” Julia said, reaching out to touch. The Double Wedding Ring pattern had been beautifully hand-pieced in soft, buttery-yellow and white fabrics. It was simple, graceful, and lovely. Julia’s tight grip on her longing slipped. This wasn’t a quilt made to cover the bed of a single woman. “Who made this?”
“I helped with it, but Mamm and my aenti Mary did most of the work. It’s for my cousin Ruthie, who is marrying a man from Iowa. We’ll miss her, but this will remind her of us.”
Suddenly glad to be here after all, Julia guessed that the recipient would never know some stitches had been set in place by a strange auslander. But that was all right. Maybe . . . maybe those stitches would let her belong, if only a little bit.
Chapter Four
JULIA CHECKED MESSAGES as soon as she arrived at work each morning. With today being Tuesday, it was especially important. The Englisch—yes, only two weeks into her job with the Bowmans, she already thought of the majority of their customers that way—expected to be able to shop on Sundays, and had trouble understanding why the store might be closed on a weekend day.
Seeing that Eli hadn’t yet arrived, Julia had barely nodded at Luke when she passed him in the workshop on her way in. Smoothly sliding the blade of the table saw through a dense dark wood, he hadn’t glanced up through his eye protection, although she was sure he’d seen her. Of course he couldn’t afford to be distracted when using such a dangerous tool, but he made such a point of being occupied whenever she was near, Julia never knew which times he truly couldn’t allow so much as a thin fracture in his concentration and which were excuses to avoid interacting with her.
She wanted to be relieved. She did. The uneasiness she felt around him hadn’t relented at all. In retrospect, she recognized that she’d turned down what would have been a good job at a construction firm back in Cleveland not because of the commute or hours, but because the majority of the employees were male, and several of those men were big and muscular.
Luke disturbed her more, but she was determined to overcome her reaction. She had made a new start, and she wouldn’t let cowardice derail it.
Yes, it was just as well Luke Bowman kept his distance—but privately she could admit that it also stung. She hadn’t done anything to him, so why did he dislike her?
A beep in her ear told her she’d tuned out an entire lengthy message while she brooded. She replayed it and made notes. A truck due to pick up a bedroom set had broken down. Julia already knew that Bowman & Son’s Handcrafted Furniture often used the company and would understand an occasional delay. The man leaving the message promised to call later today to reschedule.
Beep.
The bell attached to the front door tinkled, and she lifted her head with an automatic smile even as she set the phone back in its cradle. Two couples likely in their thirties entered, tourists at a guess. The door swinging closed behind them, the men strutted in front. One of the two wore Hawaiian-print board shorts, the other cargo shorts. Both had bulging biceps emphasized by too-tight T-shirts. The women trailed behind.
Instinct told her these people wouldn’t be buying furniture, although she understood the desire to look and covet.
“May I help you?” Julia asked, rising to her feet. A light startled her. The man in the loud shorts held up a smartphone. He’d set off the flash. Why would he want a photo of her?
“You’re not Amish.” He scanned what he could see of her over the counter, his mouth curling into a sneer. “It’s not Amish furniture if it’s people like you working here.”
The woman behind him tugged at his arm. “Ken—”
He shook her off and advanced on Julia. “Well?”
“The furniture is made by Amish craftsmen, father and son, just as the sign says. I’m the receptionist.”
“So where are they?” His head swung.
What was this about? The two women both looked embarrassed, but the other guy smirked as he watched his friend.
“The Amish don’t like to be photographed, you know. Please respect their wishes when you do see anyone of their faith.”
“Faith!” he scoffed. “Weirdos is what they are.” His eye fell on the door labeled Employees Only. “They back there?”
To her horror, he headed toward the door leading to the workshop. Julia dashed to intercept him. “Can’t you read? You’re not permitted back there! You could be injured—”
He grabbed her by the upper arms and lifted her to the side. Old panic flared, but so did anger. She slid between him and the door, pressing her back against it.
“No! You can’t go in here! Now, I’m asking you to leave the store or I’ll call the police.”
“Just want to see this Amish furniture being made so I know it’s not some scam. That a crime?”
Dizzy from the speed of her heartbeat, she still snapped, “Yes. If you try to go in there, you’ll be trespassing. You’ve already assaulted me, but I’ll let it go if you leave. Now.”
“What the—” Dark color flushed his face. At the ugly look he gave her, she’d have shrunk back if the door hadn’t been holding her up.
The door that suddenly opened. She’d have fallen if she hadn’t stumbled against the solid wall of a man.
“What is the problem?” Luke. Of course it was Luke.
“This man. He wants—”
He had already lifted his smartphone again. Julia lunged for it, snatching it away.
He cursed and grabbed for it, crushing her hand.
Another big hand closed around the man’s wrist, tightening. “You can have the phone once you leave the store,” Luke said, voice polite but implacable.
“You ain’t Amish neither,” the creep snarled. “You talk English just like me. Dressing up to fake out the tourists, that’s what you’re doing! I just might stop by the police station to report fraud. What d’ya think of that?”
Luke’s knuckles turned white briefly before he released the other man and deftly removed the phone from her hand. “I think you need to go. Julia.” He spoke so close to her ear, she felt the warmth of his breath. “Call 9-1-1.”
“Are you sure?” Surprised, she started to turn, but he nudged her toward the reception area. Released from the awful tension, she hustled for the protection of the counter.
She ostentatiously lifted the phone but didn’t yet dial.
“I’m asking you to leave,” Luke said.
“Yeah, get the cops here! Let’s see what they have to say, you stealing my phone.”
If he meant it . . . She pressed 9.
He shot a look at her.
Half a head taller than either man, Luke stepped forward. Despite a stolid expression, he exuded menace. Mr. Hawaiian Board Shorts backed up.
“Ken,” the same woman entreated. The flush on her cheeks was surely from humiliation.
Julia hoped for the woman’s sake that she wasn’t married to this jerk.
Luke took another long stride.
“Fine! But you’ll hear about this!”
Luke stalked him all the way to the front door. One of the women had already opened it. Once both couples were out on the sidewalk, Luke handed over the phone. The creep yanked it away so aggressively, he stumbled back.
“We ask that you do not take photographs of us, particularly our faces.”
Julia had a feeling he was talking to the women, but by this time the group was hurrying away.
Bell tinkling, the door swung shut. To her shock, Luke locked it and turned the sign beside it to Closed. Then he came directly to her, g
aze steady on her.
Stopping just on the other side of the counter, he said gently, “You can hang up.”
“Hang up—?” She looked down to find herself still clutching the receiver. “Oh!” She almost dropped it, but it fell into the cradle with a clunk.
“You didn’t call the police.”
“No. I . . . knew that’s not what you’d want. I would have if he hit you.”
Luke smiled. “He was a coward, the kind who bullies women.”
Feeling an odd thump in her chest, Julia stared. That smile had changed his hard face, warmed the usually chilly blue of his eyes.
The smile slowly faded. “Are you all right?”
She gave her head a small shake. “Yes. Well, my hand is a little sore, but I’m sure it’s fine.”
“You could have called for me.”
She squared her shoulders. “I thought I could handle him. They weren’t interested in furniture. All they wanted was to take photographs of Amish.”
His mouth twisted. “Even after the years I spent out in the world, I don’t understand that. Why would you want pictures of strangers only because they are dressed differently from you?”
“People are curious.”
He made a disgusted sound.
“Also . . . I think he didn’t like being told no. He already knew the Amish ask not to be photographed. That’s why he did it quickly, before I could cover my face.”
“He took a picture of you?”
Luke didn’t like that, she could tell. Or else he was surprised because she was so plain and uninteresting. She couldn’t regret that, she reminded herself; she had worked hard to fade into the background.
“He didn’t wait to see what I looked like. He was mad when I stood up and he saw from my clothes that I was Englisch.”
“He scared you.” Those eyes, cooler now, were too perceptive.
“Mostly, he made me mad.”
His mouth curved, not quite a smile but close. “I could tell. You weren’t going to let him through that door, were you?”
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