All she could do was pray that was so.
* * *
* * *
ON MONDAY, MIRIAM came over so that Luke could work on his house. He’d found virtually no time to continue stripping wallpaper in the past week, since Abby came into his life. Of course, Bishop Amos would understand if the multiple jobs he needed to complete took longer than he’d originally estimated, but Luke felt a restless need to make progress.
To his greater surprise, Elam arrived barely an hour later and set to work in the dining room, where they’d left off. Luke decided to tackle the small bathroom beneath the stairs—a powder room, Englischers would call it.
As he tore off the first strip, Elam called, “It will be good not to feel I’m being suffocated by flowers when I need to use the toilet.”
“I think this room will still give me claustrophobia even when I’m done,” Luke responded. It had not been designed for a man his size, for certain sure. His shoulders almost spanned the space, and the ceiling slanted over the pedestal sink. Why someone had thought giant cabbage roses entwined with fern fronds on the walls and ceiling would be an improvement, he couldn’t imagine.
He and Elam talked desultorily. Good smells came from the kitchen, where Miriam had apparently determined both to cook and bake so he’d have meals ready. It also overrode the powerful chemical stench of the stripper he was forced to use.
Every now and again, he needed to stretch, and checked on Abby. The first time, she was sitting at the kitchen table coloring, but she jumped down and ran to him, throwing her arms around his leg.
Glad that she wanted him, he scooped her up and carried her back to the table so that he could see her artwork. A black figure—he assumed a horse—faced away from a black rectangle that might have wheels. Her black crayon was worn down compared to the others scattered on the table.
“A black horse,” he said. “That must be Charlie.”
Abby nodded.
“Your drawing is sehr gut.” He had taken to throwing in words in Deitsh, even simple sentences where the meaning was clear. “We’ll hang it on the refrigerator when you’re done.”
If she was pleased, he couldn’t tell, but once he set her back on the chair, she reached for another sheet of paper.
Miriam gave him a wry look over her shoulder. “You stink, bruder.”
He grinned. “Denke. Perhaps we should trade places. Little as you are, you’d fit in the bathroom better than I do.”
“But my cooking is so much better than yours.”
He shook his head in pretend dismay. “Hochmut. Be careful not to say such things where others might hear.”
“I heard!” Elam called from the dining room.
His sister stuck her tongue out, no doubt aiming at both brothers.
As the day went on, Luke had to contort himself to reach the spaces behind the porcelain pedestal sink and the toilet. While he was on his knees, face all but in the toilet bowl, he saw that the linoleum curled up in the corner. Did that mean a leak, and possible rotting floorboards?
Experimentally, he tugged. He couldn’t pull much up without removing the toilet, but he saw wide boards beneath rather than plywood, as befitted the age of the house. Good wood, he thought, pleased. Sycamore, maybe, or maple, but not oak.
He hadn’t meant to tackle the flooring in the house until later. He didn’t like the carpet, especially on the stairs, or the kitchen linoleum, but they were serviceable. Now, sinking back to his heels, he decided to work on flooring as well as walls, room by room. People might think he should finish one job before he started another, but he loved working with wood. Gleaming wood floors would satisfy him and give a better sense of how the house would look eventually.
Ja, and once the toilet and sink were removed, he wouldn’t have to try to squeeze his arm into spaces his sister’s skinny arm might better fit. Or Julia’s. She hardly ate more than Abby, and he didn’t like it.
Had she once been softer, more overtly feminine? Perhaps wearing drab clothing wasn’t enough for her, although paring that softness away might not have been a conscious decision.
He tried to picture her at a happier time in her life, as he had too often.
Elam’s voice drifted to him. “You’re too quiet. Are you hiding out while we do all the work?”
He grimaced. That wasn’t what he’d been doing, but squatting here brooding about a woman who was taboo for him wasn’t any better.
“I’m thinking. A little of that makes work go better, you know.”
His brother snorted and, a moment later, appeared in the doorway. “There’s more wallpaper under there.”
“Of course there is.” The next layer had been tiny sprigs of flowers—he guessed lavender, although because of the discoloration of aging and the glue on the back of the latest paper, it was hard to tell. He stood aside so Elam could look at the wood floor beneath the linoleum, then announced his intention to remove the fixtures before he continued stripping wallpaper and ripped up the ugly linoleum that had been probably laid in the 1950s.
“Ja,” Elam conceded, “that sounds smart. If I think long enough, maybe I can find a better way to finish the dining room.”
They teased each other as Luke checked his brother’s progress, let everyone use the bathroom, then turned off the water behind the toilet and removed the anchor bolts. He carried the toilet out to the back porch, studied it, and made another decision: he would buy a new one.
He had a quick lunch with his brother, sister, and daughter before going back to work with a will, sternly keeping his thoughts from Julia. But his dread of morning, when he would first see her, hovered. He had no doubt she’d have shored up her walls again. He might never again see the glorious smile that had greeted Abby and, yes, him this week.
Better if I don’t, he told himself. Better if he stayed in the workshop and went back to avoiding a woman who drew him in more than was advisable.
Chapter Thirteen
THE PRACTICE SHE’D had in hiding her feelings came in useful when Julia arrived for work Tuesday morning and saw that Luke and Eli had just arrived. She couldn’t beat them inside. Having already noticed her, Eli was opening the back door while Luke removed his gelding’s harness and turned him loose in the small paddock.
She got out of her car and locked it, pride stiffening her spine. No way would she let either man think she’d become too attached to Abby—or Luke.
Casting a casual “Hello” toward Luke, she smiled at Eli. “Gute mariye.” Hoping her grammar was somewhere near correct, she continued in Deitsh, asking how his weekend had been.
Holding the door open for her, he grinned in delight. “Gut. And yours?”
“Quiet but also good.” The big workroom felt shadowy. She lapsed back into English. “I always attend church with Nick, and then cook a big Sunday dinner at his house. I think he lives on microwave meals the rest of the time, or eats out.”
He, too, used English, turning on lights. “I might do the same if cooking at the end of a long day was the only other choice.”
Julia made a face. “I need a wife.”
He laughed, even slapping his thigh. “Ja, ja, I will tell Deborah that.”
Uneasily aware Luke had come in behind her and shut the door, Julia could feel the back of her neck prickling. Not being able to see him, wondering how close he stood, she took a few more steps. She didn’t like having anyone standing behind her, but with him it was worse. He was such a big man.
Refusing to turn, she said, “I need to check messages,” and hustled for the door leading into the showroom and small, open office.
Neither man spoke, but surely she’d fooled them. Eli, for certain. Luke had that way of looking right through her, but how could he from the back?
She was doing fine until she went behind the counter and saw the two quilts heaped beneath it, the imprint of Abby’
s small body still visible. Suddenly unable to breathe, she froze.
How could she have forgotten the quilts? If she’d shaken them out right away, taken them home with her, she wouldn’t be devastated now.
Except, of course, she knew better.
The pain slowly subsided, allowing her to pick them up one by one and fold them. She looked around for someplace to set them out of sight, but the space was too small for that. At last, resigned, she piled them to one side of the desk, where she wouldn’t forget them at the end of the day.
Not until midmorning did either man appear, and then it was Luke. Seeing she was with potential customers, he hesitated, but she told them, “Luke Bowman is one of our two furniture makers.”
“‘Son,’ presumably,” the man said, holding out a hand.
They shook, something Luke must have become accustomed to in his years away. “Yes, I have no sons of my own yet.”
“I suppose you’d never teach furniture making to a daughter,” the man remarked. Not quite critically, more thoughtfully, but Luke’s jaw noticeably tightened.
“Not usually, but if I had a daughter who was especially interested, I would. Why not? Young women often hold a job outside the home for a few years or, later, work beside their husbands in a business. My sister Miriam works now at the quilt shop down the street.”
“Oh!” The wife’s face lit. “I think I might sign up for a class there. I’ve always wanted to give quilting a try, and this seems like the time now that Jim has retired and we’ve moved here. We have a daughter living in Tompkin’s Mill,” she added as an aside.
“Julia here is a very fine quilter.” Luke tipped his head at her. “If you have questions, she’d be a good one to ask.” He turned his gaze to the man, asking politely, “What work did you do?”
“Software design.” He chuckled. “Not something you’d be familiar with. You folks don’t use computers at all, do you?”
A flicker of something showed on Luke’s face. “We do in our businesses.” He nodded toward the one behind the counter. “Many of our sales come from our website. But before I was baptized, I spent some years working on algorithms.”
Julia gaped along with both Englischers. As reserved as he was, why had he said that? Had his pride been pricked? But the Amish eschewed pride, in the sense she’d imagined. Anyway, Luke was so confident, he’d never feel the need to put a man in his place.
Had he wanted her to know he had skills beyond the craftsmanship that was acceptable among the Amish?
Luke raised his eyebrows, no doubt at their expressions. “Furniture making involves mathematics, too, you know. Angles, for example. Measurements must be precise—although quilters know that, as well.” He shook himself. “Can I answer any questions about the furniture?”
It turned out they were shopping for a new bedroom set. The wife had already gravitated toward one of Luke’s, made of bird’s-eye maple with a warm stain, inlaid with paler, smooth-grained ash. More than his father, he liked to do inlays, Julia had learned. Now she wondered if it was the mathematician in him, enjoying the precision. Or did contrast please him?
This pair of dressers and headboard and footboard used subtle curves in an unmistakably modern way that would still mix beautifully with antiques.
Luke made his excuses and disappeared in back, leaving her wondering why he’d come out in the first place. To tell her about Abby? Julia didn’t know how that would make her feel.
She concentrated on the customers, who indeed decided to buy the entire bedroom set. Bowman’s delivered free of charge locally. And why not? The total price was huge. While running their credit card, Julia encouraged the wife to visit the quilt shop and sign up for a class.
“That way you’ll get to know other local quilters, too.”
“I’ll do that.” She looked past Julia. “Are those quilts your work? May I see them?”
She couldn’t refuse. “Yes, both are twin-bed-size. I’m afraid I’m overwhelmed with my own quilts. Thank goodness, I’m able to consign some to A Stitch in Time to sell. These . . .” Would Luke accept one from Julia for Abby’s bed, if she offered it?
Probably not—it would only remind his daughter of the Englisch woman who could not be an important part of her life.
The woman, who introduced herself as Evelyn Williams, examined both quilts minutely, savoring the texture much as she had the silky surface of the fine woods. “These are lovely. That’s what I’d like to make—quilts for my grandchildren.”
“That’s a good place to start,” Julia told her. Bed-size might be too ambitious, but not necessarily if she chose a relatively simple pattern.
“Well, I’ll hope to see you at the quilt store.” Evelyn’s gaze became speculative. “You’re not Amish, are you?”
No, but I wish I were. Shocked by the thought, Julia pushed it away. It was ridiculous.
Gathering herself, she said, “No, but both Amish and Englisch—er, everyone else—shop at A Stitch in Time. Quilters understand each other.”
Evelyn was beaming by the time they left. Julia made herself call the local trucking company and arrange the delivery before she opened the door into the workroom.
“They bought the set!” she announced.
Holding a handsaw, Eli looked up. “Set?”
“The inlaid maple bedroom set. I won’t be surprised if they come back for a dining room table and chairs, too.”
Luke watched her with what she’d swear was a faint smile in his eyes. “That was a big sale. You enjoy this, don’t you?”
“Yes!” She hesitated, looking from father to son. “Is there something wrong with that?”
Eli answered. “No. We wouldn’t brag because our sales were better than Yoder’s Heritage Furniture’s, because competition isn’t our way. We send customers to them when we think their furniture might be more what they’re looking for, and they do the same for us. But this is how we support our families, so a big sale is something to celebrate.”
Luke contributed in his deep, calm voice. “Also, we spend so many hours on each piece, knowing it has sold to people who will appreciate it is a good feeling.”
“I understand that.” She felt the same way when she let one of her quilts go. Speaking of . . . “I had an idea.” Her best ideas invariably came when she was trying to outrun depression or panic.
The two men waited, expressions inquiring.
“Well, what if you made a deal with Ruth at the quilt shop? She could have a couple of your quilt racks there, and maybe a rocking chair or two. They’d be great for displaying quilts for sale. Here, we could do the same, showing a few quilts for sale. Customers might be more likely to go back and forth to choose just the right quilt or rack, and you’d both be able to display more of your product than you can now.”
They stared at her. Maybe there was a downside to the idea that she hadn’t thought of, or she was just plain overstepping, considering she was nothing but a receptionist and bookkeeper here.
But Eli began to nod slowly as he turned to his son. “It wonders me why we didn’t think of this. Why I didn’t think of it. You’ve only been working with the furniture for a year.”
“This summer we did something like that during special sales, remember?” To Julia, Luke said, “We’d put smaller pieces out on the sidewalk. All the stores did the same. The police closed the street so people could wander across and back. Anyway, Miriam carried a few quilts to us, and they had already borrowed some of our racks to show the quilts. Inside . . . it would make our display room more colorful, feel like home.”
Julia relaxed. They’d listened to her suggestions before without slapping her down, so she didn’t know why she’d expected any different.
“You’ll talk to Ruth, then?”
“Ja—or why don’t you do that. Daad?”
“Certain sure.” Eli smiled at her. “Ruth will be
glad, I think. She’s a good businesswoman.”
Which was apparently fine only because she was a widow, if Julia understood right. But that made sense. Miriam said Ruth had opened the shop after her youngest daughter got married and Ruth’s husband died only six months later.
“We could take a few larger quilts to display on the beds, too,” Julia said.
Luke raised his eyebrows. “Does she have a bed of some kind in the store? What kind of headboard and footboard does it have?”
“It’s an antique, or at least it looks like one. White-painted metal, sort of lacy.”
He shrugged. “Ach, that might be best with the quilts.”
This was one of the times when she could hear the Pennsylvania Dutch accent in his voice. Unhappy to be focused on how much she liked his voice, however he chose to speak, she said hastily, “When I take my lunch break—”
“Why don’t you go now?” Eli said. “Catch Ruth when she’s certain sure to be there, ja? If you leave the door open, Luke or I can help anyone who comes in.”
With a grin, Luke contributed, “Strike while the iron is hot.”
“That’s really a strange saying, you know? I’ve never hit anybody with my iron.”
Luke’s grin deepened the creases in his cheeks. Eli roared with laughter.
Feeling better about herself, glad to have had such a natural discussion with the men, Julia propped open the door as they’d suggested, and hurried out into the heat of the day without even grabbing her purse.
* * *
* * *
LUKE WAS GLAD for Julia that Ruth immediately liked her idea. Although why wouldn’t she? Ruth and Julia had brought armfuls of quilts back to the furniture store with them, and at their request, he’d made two trips to carry two rocking chairs while they each took a quilt rack the other direction.
At the end of the day, Luke and his father went to see what Julia had done with the quilts. He stopped only a few feet into the room, startled by the change but impressed right away.
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