Soon his father had emerged to join them. He and Daad pulled up stools to the counter, while the two women sat on the other side in the desk chairs, Abby on Julia’s lap.
Miriam chattered about how successful the sale at the quilt shop had been, and how they were having to order many more bolts of fabric and notions—whatever notions were—than usual to refill their stock.
She turned to look at Julia. “Oh! Your Flying Geese quilt sold this morning. I meant to say that first thing! I have the money for you right here.” She produced an envelope from her lunch bag and handed it over. “Ruth says she’ll be happy to take any other quilts you want to sell on commission.”
“That’s good news.” Looking quietly pleased, Julia opened a drawer where she kept her handbag and dropped the envelope in. “I do have others I can bring. I thought she might have a harder time selling mine, since most people who come in are probably looking for Amish quilts.”
“But your work is beautiful. Anyway, sometimes people don’t even ask about the maker.”
Her brow creased. “I wouldn’t want them misled.”
Daad nodded his approval of her integrity.
“Oh, Ruth would never do that. But you know we sell quilts from several other non-Amish quilt makers. It’s never been a problem.”
“Okay.” This smile seemed to be a shadow of its usual self. “Tell Ruth how much I appreciate her giving me the opportunity. I love to quilt, but I think my parents or brother would run the other way if I tried to give them another one.”
They all laughed.
Clearly listening, Abby ate in her tidy, birdlike way. Luke wanted to see her appetite grow, but perhaps she was meant to stay tiny. He liked the way Julia encouraged her with smiles and touches even as she seemed engaged in the conversation.
By the time he and his father returned to work, leaving the two women talking—actually, practicing Deitsh—he regretted that he hadn’t been able to have lunch just with Julia and Abby.
Next week, he’d have no excuse to take breaks out front with Julia. By then, he’d have heard what Bishop Amos had to say, from disappointment in Luke for having allowed his own child to grow up in deplorable circumstances to his duty now to raise her within the faith—and without leaning on an Englisch woman, however well-meaning.
His father quit work, tidied his space, and swept, finishing a good ten minutes early. Since they had arrived separately today, he nodded at Luke and said, “I’ll see you in the morning, ja? Lucky we are to worship in the Klines’ barn, where it will be cool.”
Ninety degrees instead of ninety-eight, maybe, but Luke agreed.
His father’s last glance held a clear message, but also kindness. Daad had to have guessed how much Julia would miss Abby.
Luke found himself moving slower and slower as he, too, cleaned up, making sure no sawdust lurked on the table saw or floor, that each and every tool was in the place designed to hold it. Finally, he could delay no longer.
He slid his thumbs beneath his suspenders, smoothing out wrinkles in his shirt, before heading out front to fetch Abby. The sign on the front door was already turned to Closed. Julia was waiting, hand in hand with his dochder. As though nothing at all was wrong, she handed him a bag that he could tell, from the odd bumps, held all of Abby’s toys.
“Her change of clothes is in here, too,” she assured him.
“Thank you.” He took the bag. “Walk out with us?”
“Sure.” As he’d done a minute ago, she glanced around as if to be sure she hadn’t left anything undone, or out when it shouldn’t be. Then she grabbed her purse and, still holding Abby’s hand, came out from behind the counter.
Outside, she waited while he locked the back door. They might as well have stepped into an oven. It had to be around a hundred degrees, unless it was his mood making the heat more oppressive. Charlie stood hipshot, barely flicking his ears at their appearance.
Julia followed Luke to the buggy, watching as he set the bag inside on the floor. Then she lifted Abby into her arms and held her tight, cheek pressed to the top of her head, as he harnessed his gelding, taking unnecessary time to check the fit of the collar and slide his fingers beneath the breast strap to smooth the lie of Charlie’s coat, before he backed him into place.
When he turned to take Abby, he saw the tears that streaked Julia’s cheeks. He hesitated, heard her choked whisper.
“Goodbye, little one.”
Clenching his teeth, he reached for his daughter. Julia surrendered her while averting her face. By the time Abby latched onto him, Julia was hurrying away.
Even as he stood there, she leapt into her car, started the engine and drove down the alley. If she so much as glanced in the rearview mirror, he didn’t see it.
A burn at the back of his eyes told him how deeply he had wounded her. He wanted to think unwittingly, but knew better. He’d always seen the hurt she carried behind outward confidence and bright smiles. He’d known, known, that from the first moment, Abby had touched her heart. And still, he’d taken advantage of her.
For Abby, a terrified, equally damaged child.
How could he have made any other choice?
Chapter Twelve
“THIS DOCHDER COULD serve as a link to your past away from our faith,” the bishop observed. “Might she remind you often of those times, people you knew? Even if she doesn’t pull you away from the Leit in the flesh, she might turn your heart away.”
He and Luke strolled in a circle around the vegetable garden at the Kline home. The garden was undoubtedly watered daily, but the corn in an adjoining field looked drier than it should, Luke noted with a small part of his attention. After a dry late spring and early summer, the leaves on apple, plum, and peach trees hung limp.
A rabbit hopped behind the tomato plants. A rabbit lucky that Katie-Ann hadn’t see it. She might be chasing it with her shovel already.
High above, the distinctive shape of a chimney swift soared.
Luke was taking care to allow himself a moment before he answered. He must fight any hint of temper or even defensiveness. Bishop Amos was a wise man, chosen over twenty years ago to guide his brethren to faith in the Lord and His teachings.
“No,” Luke said at last, calmly. “Abby’s mother is dead. She would have been the only tie that meant anything. In making sure that social worker found me, she made her wishes clear. Despite whatever drove her away from her own family and church, she asked that I raise our daughter to walk with God. She spoke of the faith that I had been raised with. I believe she’d be glad to know that Abby has the same chance to rejoice in the fellowship among us.”
Clasping his hands behind him, Amos nodded. “You relieve my mind, Luke. I believe you came home humbled, genuinely changed from the headstrong boy I remember. It’s a blessing indeed that this child was brought to you, and now, when you’re ready for her.”
“I think so, too,” he agreed. “Although jumping into being a father like this is a little like discovering the pond is so deep, I don’t know if I can make it to the surface or ever breathe again.”
Amos chuckled. “Every new father feels that way. You must trust in God to guide you. This may be the Lord’s way of hinting that you find a helpmeet.”
“I have that in mind,” he said simply.
“I’m told you’ve been taking Abigail with you to work each day.”
Having expected this, Luke said, “Just for this week. I tried leaving her with Mamm on Wednesday, but she was so frightened she squeezed behind the toilet and shook all over. I knew that she liked and trusted Julia, who is Daad’s and my employee. She was kind enough to watch over Abby.”
Bishop Amos said nothing, which drove Luke to continue. “I’ve been eating dinner with my parents every night to give Abby a chance to get to know Mamm and Miriam, especially. Miriam has stopped by at the store daily, too, bringing cookies. Abby has
gotten so she’s really happy to see her.”
Another laugh. “I confess to searching for your sister’s cookies at our fellowship meals. They are very fine.”
Luke smiled. “They are.”
“Abby speaks no Deitsh?”
“She doesn’t speak at all.”
Amos shook his head. “Ja, I had not forgotten. I misspoke.”
Luke answered the real question. “It seems clear she doesn’t understand our language. Her mother must not have used it with her, even though Deitsh was Beth’s first language. That doesn’t help, of course.”
His gaze on a bluebird perched on the gnarly limb of an old apple tree, watching them with head tilted, Amos was quiet for a moment. “But why so frightened?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know why she won’t speak, either. It’s not just speech—she doesn’t laugh aloud, or cry out if she’s afraid or falls and skins a knee.” Troubled, Luke continued, “Julia suggested that the clothing our women wear might have scared a girl used to Englisch garments. But now she is becoming accustomed to Mamm, so it’s my intention to have her watch over Abby starting Tuesday. I think Mamm is eager to get to know her new granddaughter better.”
“That seems like the wise course,” Amos agreed, his keen gaze turned now to Luke.
“It was always my intention.”
“Deborah says Abby refused to wear the new dress.”
Luke grimaced. “So far, Abby refuses to wear anything but what she picks out in the morning. If she puts her shoes on the wrong feet, she throws a silent fit if I try to take them off and put them back on. I have trouble standing up to her tears. We have a ways to go.”
“Your mamm is a good one to guide her.”
Luke heard what wasn’t said: You must not let an Englisch woman influence your child.
One who had transformed Abby with the fancy hairdo that had so offended Mamm and probably Bishop Amos.
And yet, Julia’s advice to him could have been given by his mother, or even Amos himself. No, she didn’t speak their language and worshipped at a different church, but she had been everything good to a vulnerable child. After his own experiences, Luke agreed that the decision his people had made to live separate lives was wise. How better to keep God first and families close without all that would tear them apart in the outside world?
It wasn’t as if the Amish were blind to what was happening around them. How could they be, when the challenge to keep families intact became greater and greater? Their young now experimented with modern music, mobile phones, electronic games, and alcohol during the rumspringa time they were all permitted. These days, more of those kids made the decision Luke had, to leave the plain ways for more education or an indefinable something they saw as greater—but most still chose to be baptized and stay within a faith and community that offered a rich if simpler life, one that followed their Lord’s admonitions.
Luke felt in accord with the bishop as they returned to the gathering, but no more settled in his mind about the woman he would see again Tuesday morning.
* * *
* * *
JULIA SLID INTO the pew, sandwiched between Nick’s solid bulk and a hefty fellow she knew to be a plumbing contractor. He nodded pleasantly at her, as did his wife when she looked to see who’d joined them. Nick greeted them by name, no surprise; he seemed to know everyone in town.
Light fell through stained glass windows to each side of the altar in this beautiful old church. When a few minutes later the doors were closed and the minister stepped behind the lectern, she reached for hope. Today, she needed the comfort of the service. She wanted to feel God’s presence so she could let go of this painful, unreasonable sense of loss.
Five minutes later, she glanced sidelong at her neighbor, who seemed unable to sit still. He arched his back, rolled his shoulders, and gazed at the pastor only briefly between studying his feet or scanning the congregation. His wife wasn’t much better; a minute ago, she’d reached for her purse and was rooting inside it. Paper rustled. Was she secretly checking her phone?
Although, honestly, Julia’s attention wandered, too. The sermon concerned the parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector. It might be aimed at those who felt smug only because they went to church every Sunday and tithed, yet didn’t live their faith. Was it too pointed for the contractor and his wife? Or were they paying attention at all?
The pews were half-empty. All she had to do was turn her head to see several people checking their smartphones, texting, or, who knows, maybe playing a computer game.
The church she’d attended in Cleveland had some of the same problems. Attendance had been falling for years. Churches were being shuttered across the country, grand buildings torn down to be replaced by condominiums. People gave lip service to being Christian but didn’t live their faith in the way she tried to do. In fact, dearly though she loved her brother, she could feel his restlessness like electricity in the air even when he didn’t so much as twitch a muscle.
Her dissatisfaction had strengthened since moving to Tompkin’s Mill, maybe because of the time she was spending with the Amish. Their devotion to God was a living thing, central to every decision they made, expressed without apology. She admired that, felt more in common with them in that respect than she did with the members of this church.
Besides, she couldn’t imagine someone new arriving to join a local Amish church district not being welcomed wholeheartedly. Hardly anyone here had even expressed curiosity about her, far less invited her to join a committee or to help with a volunteer project. The few young women who had come up to talk to her so blatantly had their eyes on Nick, it was hard to work up a glow at their friendliness.
And, ugh, maybe the sermon was aimed at her. Wasn’t she being smug, criticizing others for a lack of Christian acceptance and forgiveness when she hadn’t exactly gone out of her way to get to know people?
Still, there might be a local church with a more fervent and faithful congregation. She made a mental note to ask Nick if he’d tried others before settling on this one.
Realizing she’d missed the concluding minutes of the sermon entirely, she felt shame creeping up her neck to her cheeks. No, she couldn’t brag about her own attentiveness to God’s word on this day of worship.
Nick nudged her, and she rose to her feet. As she preceded him down the aisle, he spoke to half the people here, relaxed, friendly. A politician. Which, in a way, he was. In Cleveland, he’d been a lieutenant in charge of a homicide unit, with several layers of men and women above him to deal with the city council, mayor, and irate citizens. Here, he had to do it all.
By the time the two of them got out to their roasting hot car, opening the doors and waiting until the air-conditioning kicked in before they dared slide onto the seats, Julia was downright chagrined. Some of the whispers she’d heard during the sermon were probably parents chiding or hushing their children. There might have been elderly who had trouble sitting still. What if the plumbing contractor had a bad back? Some of the people texting could have been doctors staying in touch with staff at the hospital, or young mothers worrying about sick children, or—?
Really, she’d been as judgmental as an intolerant, cranky old woman. Her life was relatively simple; she had so few other people to worry about, because she’d closed herself off even from old friends.
If she’d left Abby with a sitter instead of bringing her along to church, her attention would have been split down the middle, too.
In fact . . . it already was.
“Why the awful face?” Nick asked.
She rolled her eyes at him. “I’m scolding myself for uncharitable thoughts.”
He flashed a grin at her. “No, you?”
Dismayed, she asked, “Am I that much of a prig?”
“What’s a prig?” He oinked.
This time, she stuck out her tongue.
Nick only laughed. “Of course you’re not.” The smile disappeared. “You are more thoughtful than most people, in both meanings of the word. When you do something, you give yourself wholeheartedly to it, but you also guard yourself, if that isn’t a contradiction. What’s wrong with that?”
She knew he was thinking that she had reason to be guarded. It was true, but also crippling. When was the last time she’d really opened her heart to anyone?
But that answer she knew.
Less than a week ago, to a frightened, mute, young girl, Julia realized in dismay. The stab of pain came out of nowhere, yet didn’t surprise her. It was foolish to have become invested in a child she’d always known would be in her life for only a matter of days—but downplaying what she felt didn’t reduce it.
“I’m thinking of going back to school,” she heard herself say, even though she was far from sure she actually wanted to. As she’d browsed university websites last night, a small voice inside questioned her motivation. What if she was trying to fill a deep need in herself for the kind of connections other people had? A husband, children, dear friends.
The kind of life fear had stolen from her.
Well, as Nick put it, what was wrong with that? If helping other people’s children filled even a fraction of that hollow space in her, that was better than nothing.
“There’s a lot to consider about that,” her brother said, his very neutrality making her suspect he saw right through her—or doubted she’d be able to move to a strange city, alone, to do the coursework and student teaching.
Looking out the side window, she closed her eyes against the brightness. What were Abby and Luke doing?
But she knew. They were surrounded by their congregation, worshipping God more attentively than she had—and most of all, they were enveloped by loving family that would heal Abby.
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