Fraying at the Edge

by Cindy Woodsmall

  “I don’t need any healing.” Did these people just say anything that was on their minds while everyone was in the room?

  And to think she’d almost felt bad for planning to go behind their backs in order to reach Cody. Not anymore. They didn’t want to connect with their new daughter. They wanted slave labor. That’s all.

  When she left here, she didn’t intend to be a part of either family—Brenneman or Nash. And certainly not a Jenkins, because Nicholas was a pain. She would head to New York or L.A., and she would never look back.

  Abram slung a bundle of shingles onto his shoulder and toted the sixty-plus pounds up the ladder. This part of the neighborhood had no residents, only homes in various stages of completion.

  “Abram.” Jackson’s tattoo flattened and inflated as he slid a shingle into place and shot several nails into it. “You okay?”

  “Ya.” Abram tossed the bundle onto the roof and dug in his pocket for his lock-blade knife. He pulled out the blade, ready to rip the paper off the shingles.

  “Hold up. Don’t open those.”

  Abram closed his knife. “Why not?”

  Jackson rocked back to sit on his haunches while looking at Abram. “Because we don’t need any more bundles of black shingles, especially since that color doesn’t go on this house.”

  Abram looked to the ground below at the two stacks of roofing materials, one on this side of the driveway and one on the other. He’d spent the last thirty minutes getting bundles from the far side of the driveway. How had that not dawned on him?

  “I just realized the mistake as you were climbing up.” Jackson shifted until he was sitting on the roof. “You’ve been distracted lately. No biggie. Just take a breather for now.”

  Abram’s knees were a bit weak, and he sat. He knew exactly where his mind was—Ariana. She had been the confident one, his safety net when he needed to talk, someone who could help him get through everyday encounters. Now that she was gone, he wasn’t quite sure how to function. He was sick with worry about her, and he didn’t know what to do about that either.

  Sitting on this roof, looking at dozens of unfinished homes, watching other workers on the ground moving about, he had one clear thought: he couldn’t let the café go under while Ariana was gone.

  “I don’t think I can keep this job.”

  “Why? We’ve been a team for three months. And you’re good at roofing when your mind is where your body is. I gotta say it’s bothered me to watch you go from extremely focused to superscattered over the last month. I’m not the boss, so there’s no need to explain anything to me. I just wanted to get that off my chest.”

  Abram should string together a few more words. Ariana would want that of him. “I’m not dying. No one I know is dying. So you know…I’m fine.”

  “Ah, so that’s how it is. If you’re not gut shot and none of your buddies are gut shot, everything is just fine.” Jackson propped his forearms on his knees and interlaced his fingers. “The Amish guys you arrive with each day seem to have had your back since your focus disappeared. I’m guessing they know what’s going on, right?”

  “Ya. They know.”

  The local Amish community knew the story, and maybe the Amish communities around the country knew. But since Abram’s family didn’t want the story picked up by the news, the Amish were keeping it to themselves.

  “That’s good,” Jackson said. “Everybody needs at least one person who knows.”

  “But they don’t get it, not really.” Why had Abram said that?

  “Yeah, what people know and what they get are very different, but take it from a former marine, it’s still important to talk to someone.”

  Abram’s sounding board was gone, and it was hard to sleep and eat. Every time he looked at Skylar, it made things even harder. He had to remind himself that she was as innocent in this as Ariana.

  Jackson pulled a stick of gum from its package and offered it to him.

  Abram took it. “Thanks.” Would the walking boss see them sitting around and yell? “I better take the wrong shingles back and get the right ones.”

  “You can do that tomorrow.” Jackson held up his wrist and looked at his watch. “It’s almost quitting time.” He gestured toward the driver, Mr. Carver. The older man was half a block down the street, but he’d removed his tool belt and was slowly walking toward the work van.

  “My sister bought a café, and I’m needed there. My two younger sisters are struggling to run it.”

  His whole family was struggling under the weight of the new café and Ariana’s absence. If Jackson thought Abram was making a mess on the construction site, he should see what was happening at the café. Susie and Martha could barely cook anything on the menu, run a register, or keep enough dishes washed. If Ariana were here, she’d have that café running like water in a crystal-clear creek in summer—inviting and rippling with energy.

  “I didn’t know you had sisters or a café. Amazing what a person can learn when the quiet man actually speaks.” Jackson chuckled as he unwrapped a piece of gum and shoved the trash in his pocket. “Is the food any good?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “That’s a great recommendation. I’ll be sure to spread the word.” Jackson’s laugh echoed off the half-built homes around them. “But you’ll forgive me if I don’t eat there.”

  “Can’t say I blame you. Hopefully, Susie and Martha are getting the hang of cooking what’s on the menu.”

  “Your sisters bought a café, but you don’t know if either can cook? I thought the Amish were practical.”

  “We are. I think. It’s just…well, things didn’t go as planned.” Abram had said plenty, at least to an outsider.

  “Where is this topnotch café?” Jackson got up.

  “Old town Summer Grove.” Abram stood. Nausea and lightheadedness made him feel a bit wobbly. A man who couldn’t eat or sleep shouldn’t be on a roof. “My sister Ariana can bake, and she bought it the first of the month.”

  He took baby steps down the slanted roof and to the ladder, thinking about all he and Ariana had been through to buy the café. They’d worked and saved for years. When time began to run out on the option to buy it and they were still short on funds, Quill walked her through the steps for having a successful benefit. She went to closing less than a week after the benefit. Abram started down the ladder.

  Jackson waited nearby. “So why isn’t Ariana running it?”

  “She had to leave unexpectedly. In the two weeks between buying it and leaving, she tried to teach us how to prepare everything on the limited menu, but apparently that hasn’t worked so well.” Abram hushed and stepped off the last rung.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about the café. No matter what he did, the café forced its way to the forefront of his mind like a punch to the head. Something had to be done. They couldn’t afford to hire anybody yet, and Susie and Martha couldn’t keep up with the baking, serving, cleaning, ordering, and picking up supplies.

  Ariana could, but Skylar couldn’t even manage to pour refills for the customers.

  Without having Ariana to talk to, he actually had a hankering to talk, but he had already said too much to Jackson. The man was just being polite.

  The other men who rode with Mr. Carver were loading the van with their tool belts and lunchboxes. Abram told Jackson bye and climbed in the van, tuning out everything as the others got in. Mr. Carver started the van, and once the tires hit the main road, the vehicle seemed to fly.

  Abram had decisions to make, and there was only one girl to talk to about it—Cilla Yoder.

  An hour after leaving the job site, Mr. Carver dropped off Abram at his house. He needed to eat something so he would feel better, but instead he went into the barn and hitched a horse and buggy. He hoped none of his family had seen him get out of the van, because he wasn’t in the mood to tell them where he was going. Or how work had been.

  With the buggy set, he headed out of the barn and soon was going down a gravel road. Seeing the sm
all pond to his left made him feel nostalgic. He and Ariana used to go to the pond, lie on their bellies, and lean into the water with buckets in hand to scoop up minnows. But once they had the minnows, they would let them go. Since Ariana left, everything reminded him of her.

  Pulling onto Cilla’s driveway, he realized he’d been hoping she would be outside. But she wasn’t. He parked his buggy and walked to the house. After hesitating a few seconds, he knocked on the door, rapping three times. They probably had their door open earlier, letting in the fall air, but with the sun setting it was getting nippy.

  He heard footsteps, and when the door opened, Barbie stood on the other side—the girl he’d finally gained the courage to ask out, who had said yes, and who had then jilted him before their first date. Abram nodded at her, frustrated at feeling nervous in her presence.

  “You here for Cilla?” Barbie acted friendly.

  “Ya.”

  “I’ll tell her. Want to come in?”

  That was the last thing he wanted to do. “No, just let her know I’m here.”

  Barbie gently shut the door. He moved to a rocking chair and stared out at a wide field, bare except for large, round bales of hay.

  Cilla came out of the house, looking chipper and healthy, as if she didn’t deal with cystic fibrosis. “This is a pleasant surprise.” Her smile made his heart warm. She sat in the rocker next to him. “You know you could come inside.”

  “This is good.”

  They sat in silence for some time, gazing at the field and the pale orange sky. His head felt a little clearer already. “Do you think she’ll like it there?”

  “Ariana?” Cilla turned, studying him. “I don’t know. I hope not.”

  “Ya, me too.” He wanted assurance, but Cilla was too honest to tell him only what he wanted to hear. A silence stretched out for a few moments as he thought of all the Amish who had turned Englisch. Was the Englisch way of life as appealing as it looked from the Amish side? Appealing enough for people to leave their families forever? “I think I might need to quit roofing.”

  “Why? You’re not thinking of searching for Ariana, are you?”

  “No. She has to do what Nicholas wants, or it could cause trouble for the midwife.” Abram watched the sky as the clouds moved across it. “It’s so hard to believe Ariana has different parents than me. It always felt as if we were twins. We were so close.”

  “You and she are close, Abram, not were.”

  The clouds changed shape, looking so different from a few minutes ago. How much would circumstances change Ariana between now and when she returned? “Are close,” he mumbled.

  “How’s your Mamm doing?”

  “Not great, but she tries to hide it. I overheard her talking to Daed, and she’s carrying unbearable guilt. And now that Skylar is living with us, she seems to blame Mamm too. It’s as if neither of them remembers that Rachel, the midwife and Mamm’s friend, spent twenty years hiding her suspicions from Mamm.”

  “I heard at the Sunday meeting that a blanket brought everything to light.”

  “Sort of, I guess, in a roundabout way.” He imagined that a lot of what was being said wasn’t accurate. Other people could think what they wanted, but he wanted Cilla to know the truth…as much as he knew it. “What happened is while Mamm was in labor, she had time on her hands, and she embroidered a small set of baby’s feet in the corner of two blankets, one blue and one pink. Since she didn’t know she was having twins, she thought she would need just one of those blankets. Hours later as Mamm was delivering us, the birthing center caught fire. Rachel and Daed got everyone out safe—Mamm, Ariana, Brandi, Skylar, and me.”

  “Ya, I know about the fire. Everyone had to be really shaken and not thinking clearly for a while after something like that.”

  “I’m sure that was part of it. Brandi and Skylar were taken to a hospital. Mamm and Daed came home with Ariana and me. A few days or weeks later Mamm realized Ariana’s blanket didn’t have the embroidery on it like mine did, so she talked to Rachel about it. And Rachel wasn’t just the midwife; she and Mamm were good friends. When Mamm questioned her about whether there was any chance the girls had been switched at birth, Rachel assured her the answer was no.”

  “Your poor Mamm must feel betrayed.”

  “Probably. Rachel told her the blankets fell off the infants and were mixed up but not the girls. That’s the story Rachel stuck to until my brother Mark saw Skylar performing on stage, and he couldn’t get over how much she looked like Salome. He came home and told us about it. Not long afterward Mamm and Daed approached Rachel, and whatever she said caused them to ask Quill to investigate the issue secretly.”

  The knot in Abram’s stomach began to ease. Talking changed nothing, so why did it help him feel so much better?

  “It seemed to happen so quickly.”

  “Some of that was Mamm’s mistake, and she admits it. Once she suspected the truth and saw Skylar on stage, she felt God was directing her to connect with Skylar, and she let Brandi know that the girls were likely swapped at birth. But when the father, Nicholas, caught wind of what was going on, he rushed in, got blood work done on Skylar, and then started threatening lawsuits if Ariana didn’t leave this life and spend time with them in the Englisch world.” He intertwined his fingers. “So Ariana is doing that to keep Rachel out of jail. Part of me wishes they’d let Rachel pay the price instead of Mamm and Ariana.”

  “But how could Ariana stay here and let her biological father send a sixty-year-old Amish woman to jail?”

  “She couldn’t, which brings me back to why I’m thinking about quitting my construction job. I can’t let the café go under while she’s gone.” Abram wasn’t used to being so sure of something…of anything. He wasn’t a leader, but he had to take matters into his hands this time. “The benefit left the café in pretty good shape to pay its bills for the next few months, but if it is run so poorly that there aren’t any customers after that money runs out, we’ll lose the café before Ariana returns. I can’t allow that.”

  “Do you know anything about cooking or running a café?”

  Abram shook his head. “Nothing.”

  “By all means you should quit your paying job.” Cilla smiled.

  Abram laughed. “I know. It’s crazy talk, isn’t it?”

  “Not completely.” Cilla’s brows furrowed. “You’re pale. Are you feeling poorly?”

  “A little, but only because I haven’t eaten right. That can wait. I need answers.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Ya, but I’m fine. I wanted to talk for a few minutes, just us.”

  “Sure, but let me fix you a plate. Stay here, and I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

  He started to protest, but his stomach overruled him. “Denki.”

  “Glad to do it.” Cilla went inside, and it seemed he’d barely gotten comfortable when she returned with a plate of food. “It’s just leftovers from supper, but they’re still warm.”

  “Denki.” Homemade mac and cheese had never looked so good, and she’d given him an extra-generous portion of beef tips. He forked the beef and noodles together. “Ach, that’s good.” He felt better and more like himself with each bite.

  Cilla set a glass of water on the table beside him. She waited quietly while he ate, and they watched as the late afternoon turned into the dark autumn night. “What about Skylar? Couldn’t she be enough help that you could keep your job?”

  “I don’t know that she’ll warm up to the idea of helping out at the café, but even if she does, I doubt she’ll be much help. She never offers to do anything, including putting her own dishes in the sink. Daed won’t put up with much more of that, but I doubt she’s ever held a job or had a chore list.”

  Cilla blinked, her eyes wide. “Oh.” She leaned back in her rocking chair, staring forward. “I can see why you’re thinking about quitting.”

  “Ya, but jobs for poor Amish folk don’t come easy. Not unless your grandfather or Daed or
an uncle owns a business.”

  “It seems to me that you have your answer, don’t you?” Cilla buttoned her sweater. “I could help at the café a couple of days a week. With both of our efforts, we might equal one slightly skilled person.”

  “That’s very generous.” Especially considering her health. “But I’m not in favor of that idea.”

  “Why?”

  “Most important, your health. And we don’t have money to pay employees yet.”

  “I’m fine now, could be for months. That’s how CF works for me. And I don’t want to be paid. Being a volunteer is perfect, no?”

  “I…I don’t know, Cilla.”

  “Would it help if I begged?” She clasped her hands together.

  “No.”

  “Gut.” She stuck out her hand. “We have a deal.”

  Abram hesitated. She was definitely pushing for her way and for all the right reasons. “Deal.”

  He shook her hand, noticing how very soft it felt in his.

  What would it be like if he never let go?

  “Sweetheart,” Isaac said, “if you keep that up, you’re going to wear off the enamel.”

  Lovina glanced in his direction. Her husband peered at her over the top of his newspaper. His gentle smile said he understood, but it did little to settle her emotions.

  “At least then I would get past one hard coating around here.” Lovina turned away from the stovetop she had been attacking with a rag. She would be encouraged if she could see one tiny victory in penetrating Skylar’s armor. Despite helping with some chores yesterday, the girl skillfully avoided contact as much as possible through sleep, sarcasm, and indifference. Maybe those were defense mechanisms, but she seemed to detest everything about the situation—their faith, their large family, and their lack of electricity, cars, phones, entertainment, and education. They had to talk to her.

  Isaac folded the newspaper and laid it on the table beside him. “Skylar’s only been here five days.”

  “Ya, five days without her letting down her guard once. Five days without her setting aside her disdain for us long enough to have one truly good moment, a moment where she connects. All she sees are poor people who aren’t worth her time.”