by Becky Lower
Mr. Yoder handed her another leather hide as she readied herself to leave for her room. “Mrs. Booker, you have proven me wrong. Work your magic with this piece of leather, and I’ll make another pair.”
Libby assessed the leather. It was a pale brown color, unlike the black leather of most work shoes. Then, she assessed the man. “If I can make this leather soft, will you show me how to use the tools you have? I’d like to work a pattern into the leather.”
Mr. Yoder raised an eyebrow. “A buckle was not enough for you?”
She fingered the leather, imagining the design she could create. “This leather will be too fine to not have some kind of embellishment. I’ll sketch my design idea tonight, and then tomorrow, if we have time, you’ll show me how to use your leather craft tools.”
“You will need to be very careful, since you will cut into the leather with the tools. If you have a heavy hand, you will slice the hide.” Mr. Yoder shook his head.
Libby smiled. “I’ll take that as a yes, then. I will see you in the morning.”
After she ate her dinner, Libby lit a candle in her room at the inn and sat at the little table with a piece of charcoal and a sheet of paper. Her first attempt at tooling should not be an intricate pattern, so she played with different options. She finally confined her work to the front of the shoe and drew a pattern of curled lines flowing from one side to the other. She made a rough outline of the shoe pieces, as she’d seen Mr. Yoder use as a pattern when he cut the leather. She bent the paper to make it appear like a completed shoe and checked her work from side to side.
Finally satisfied with the result of her design efforts, she applied her first dose of oil to the new brown leather. It was late when she finally crawled into her cold bed, but she sighed contentedly. A vision of Hawk crept into her consciousness as she drifted toward sleep, for the first time all day. Perhaps if she devoted herself to the creation of fine footwear, she would eventually learn to live without him. Tonight was a good start in that direction.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Libby didn’t have to raise her gaze to be aware of when Gideon Troyer entered the barn for Sunday’s service. The intake of breath from the ladies she sat among spoke volumes. She’d seen Gideon once before, when he stopped into the shop a few days earlier to see his uncle upon his arrival in Lancaster. Libby had been in the back room when he entered, and not wishing to interrupt the reunion between Mr. Yoder and his nephew, she hung in the shadows and assessed the young man. His blue eyes danced above an attractive nose. When he removed his straw hat, waves of his chestnut brown hair curled around his face. She had thought him most attractive, and obviously from the reaction of the women seated near her, she was not alone in her assessment. He hadn’t seen her at the shop, but he would today. Taking a breath, she set her Amish bonnet for him.
Libby glanced up from her clasped hands, casting a quick glance toward the man, who had taken a seat opposite where the women sat. He craned his neck and caught her gaze. She lifted an eyebrow, and he grinned, tipping his hat. She quickly lowered her gaze. Who needed words when one could be so eloquent with a simple glance? A mere arch of the eyebrow?
The service got underway with a short sermon by Mr. Yoder, followed by scripture readings by several other men. Gideon had been invited to read, since he was a guest at the service. His voice was clear and a deep baritone. Libby closed her eyes as he read, allowing his voice to wash over her. Did it make her heart race?
No, it did not.
Did his dancing blue eyes cause her stomach to flutter?
No, they did not.
She raised her gaze and allowed herself another glimpse of the man, who stared right at her. When their gazes met, did she feel the earth shudder beneath her feet?
No, she did not.
In other words, he was a perfect choice.
She had to sit through another long sermon before she could rise from her chair and begin to make her way to the barn door. She slowed her pace as she passed a small group of men which contained both Mr. Yoder and Gideon. Mr. Yoder motioned for her to join them. She hid her smile with her prayer book. Things could not be going any better.
“Gideon, I’d like you to meet my employee, the widow Mrs. Booker,” Mr. Yoder waved a hand in her direction. “Mrs. Booker, this is my nephew, Gideon Troyer.”
Libby gazed up at the blue-eyed gent, and then lowered her gaze immediately. She had to at least pretend to be Amish. She gave a slight curtsy, inhaling his outdoorsy scent. “A pleasure, sir.”
“Do I detect a British accent?” Gideon spoke softly.
“Aye. I relocated here from England when Mr. Booker passed.” She wasn’t technically lying.
“Ah, I see.” He extended his arm to her. “May I escort you to the table? After such a long service, you must be famished.”
Libby placed her hand on his arm. “Thank you, sir. I am a bit hungry.”
Things could not be going better.
She and Gideon loaded up their plates and found a quiet corner to sit on a blanket and get acquainted. The snide glances from a few of the other single ladies made her smile. She hadn’t lost her touch. As they ate in silence, Gideon kept glancing at her. She would have to talk to him sooner or later, and say something of substance. If he were Hawk, she’d have no end of topics to speak to him about.
But this wasn’t Hawk. He didn’t make her toes curl, despite his good looks. She could not come up with a decent topic of conversation, either.
She munched on her potato salad in silence, enjoying the way the bacon and potatoes slid over her taste buds.
Gideon removed his hat and brushed back his locks. Libby pictured him as a lion, preening himself before approaching a female. She controlled her giggle, just barely.
“How long have you lived here, Mrs. Booker? I don’t recall seeing you during my last visit.” Gideon stretched his legs out in front of him and propped himself up on an elbow.
“I’ve only been in Lancaster a few months, Mr. Troyer. Your uncle was kind enough to offer me a job in his shop right away.” Libby played with her fork.
“I can see why. Your mere presence in the shop should draw in people to buy his shoes.”
Libby dropped her gaze. “Thank you, sir. But it’s the shoes, not my presence, that draws people in. Your uncle is an accomplished cobbler.”
Gideon removed the fork from her hand, allowing their fingers to entwine briefly before he let her go.
No spark.
Libby exhaled a breath.
He leaned into her and whispered, “I’m only in town for two more days, but I wish to spend every second in your presence.”
She put some distance between them but gifted him with one of her best smiles. “I’d enjoy that as well, but your uncle expects me to work for him.”
“I’ll speak to my uncle. Surely, he can live without you for a few days. I’m not certain I can, though.” Gideon again grasped her fingers.
Things could not be going any better.
• ♥ •
Gideon was true to his word. Mr. Yoder allowed her two days off from the shop so she could spend time with his nephew. They shared meals and long buggy rides. Libby relished the break from what had become her routine. Other than her time on the ship coming to America, she’d been working every day of her life. Except for the Independence Day celebration, a leisurely day which she’d shared with Hawk. How like the man to intrude on her day now. A day when she hoped to find someone else to spend her life with. She let out a soft sigh.
Gideon took hold of her hand. “I too, am regretting we don’t have more time together.”
Libby blinked away the vision of Hawk and instead glanced at her escort. “Must you return to your farm so quickly?”
“I have spent too much time here already. There is much work to do at the farm to get ready for winter. Once the snow starts flying, I cannot go anywhere until spring. So, I must lay in supplies, kill some deer and cure them, make sure there is enough food for the cows.
I should have left yesterday, but once I saw your face during the church service, I had to stay. You have bewitched me.” Gideon brought her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers.
Absolutely no spark.
Libby smiled. Other men had claimed the same fate. Hawk was the only one who had not fallen under her spell. So why was Hawk the only man she yearned for? It was so unfair that he should be the one she thought of when she fell into bed at night. She should instead be envisioning a life with Gideon.
The reaction from the people who witnessed the pair on their first day of courting made her aware the townspeople had already made up their minds. Everyone else in Lancaster assumed they were a good fit. She needed to convince herself now, if they were to continue to build their relationship. Hawk intruding on her thoughts didn’t help matters.
In the evening when she left Gideon, she breathed a sigh of relief as she let down her guard. It would take so little to make the man hers. She’d already proven she could blend in with the Amish order, but did she wish to do so for the rest of her life?
On his final day with her, she took the piece of leather she’d been working on to show him.
“Why are you wasting your time with this?” Gideon tossed the scrap of leather to the side and took hold of her hands.
“I don’t consider it a waste of time.” She gathered up the leather and folded it carefully. “Soft leather means the shoes will fit and feel better. Your uncle agrees with me.” Libby controlled her temper by biting the inside of her cheek.
Gideon toyed with her fingers. “Maybe so. Working with the oils has kept your fingers soft, so perhaps there is some benefit to it. But when you become my wife, I won’t allow it, regardless of what my uncle wishes.” He finally leaned in and brushed his lips to hers. Their first kiss. “You will spend your days helping me tend to the farm, the animals, and do the laundry and cooking.”
She tugged her fingers from his grasp. “I have not agreed to become your wife, sir. You presume too much.”
“But you have agreed to allow me to court you, and Uncle Abel has given his approval. That is sufficient.”
“It may be sufficient for you and your uncle, but I will not be so easily swayed.” Libby stiffened in her seat and inched away from him. This was the outcome she had planned on and hoped for, but it was happening too fast.
Gideon boldly tossed his arm around her. “I must leave in the morning, and head back to my home, but I will return in the spring, at which time we will marry.”
“How far away is your home?” Libby hoped the change in subject would make him forget about marriage for the moment. She could feel the pit opening in her stomach. She had only a few months to come up with a new plan. Gideon had played into her hands neatly, but she was not at all certain she wanted the type of life he was offering. Her mother had lived the kind of life Gideon was talking about, and she died young. Libby could not control the tremor that raced through her body.
“Volant is in the western part of Pennsylvania, in the mountains. Clean, crisp air scented with pine. With winter coming on, we tend to stay put until the weather breaks. But the countryside is beautiful, so I don’t mind it.” He cupped her face. “It would be better if you were with me, to warm me on the cold winter nights.” He drew his thumb over her lips. “I can wait, though. I’ll just create pictures in my mind of you with me.”
She wrapped an arm around his neck and tugged him close, intending to kiss him soundly on the lips. If he planned to spend the winter fantasizing about her, she’d give him something of substance to hold onto. But as their lips met, she drew back quickly. Tears glistened her eyes. She couldn’t do this, despite the man’s good looks and good nature.
He smiled when he noticed the tears. “I will miss you as well, dear Libby Booker. Your gaze will haunt me.” He brushed back her hair. “As will your golden tresses.” He kissed her again. “And your soft lips.”
He hopped down from the buggy, helped her to the street and then led her to her door. “Until spring.” His hand wrapped around hers, reluctant to take his leave. She tore her fingers from his grasp and shut the door behind her, leaning up against it as she doubled over and took deep breaths. She at least had a few months to determine where to head next. Gideon would be gone in the morning, and she could get back to work, creating shoes for the wealthy. Despite his claim that when they wed, he would not allow her to work at such a frivolous profession, Libby found immense pleasure working at the cobbler’s. Gideon and his attitude be damned.
Libby held her precious animal skin to her nose and took a whiff. It smelled of her oils as it skimmed her cheek lightly. The soft, sweet-smelling leather would make a fine pair of work shoes. She folded the leather and placed it into her bag, which she’d take to work in the morning, envisioning the shoes in her head.
Mr. Yoder had been as malleable as the scrap of leather he’d handed to her after a bit of a tussle. Maybe after he’d taught her how to use the leatherworking tools, he’d be willing to listen to her other ideas on how to make the shoes not only softer to the touch but also add a gram of style. Maybe he’d listen as she explained her ideas for other shoes. He could stop importing the shoes from England, and paying the hefty tariffs involved. They could make them in Lancaster. And then, when she told him of Gideon’s idea that she should relinquish her shoemaking in favor of hard labor at his farm, Mr. Yoder would rescind his approval of their union. She had several months to convince Mr. Yoder to help her change the course of her life.
Or to run again.
After a restless night, she accomplished the short hike from her room to the shop, striding quickly, eyes downcast as she emulated the other women in town. Even though by now she was familiar with some of the men and women who bustled along the streets, she had observed women didn’t speak unless first spoken to. Which suited her just fine. She may live on the periphery of their circle, but by imitating their mannerisms she could pass for an Amish woman and blend into her surroundings. At least to the outside world, she’d look the part. However, even if she should one day marry into the Amish order with Gideon or someone else, they would always consider her an outsider. Right now, though, it was the best solution she could come up with. She’d continue to hide out among them until it was time to head elsewhere.
Would designing shoes be enough to make her happy? Would marriage to Gideon and life in the secluded mountains of western Pennsylvania be enough to make her happy? If she spurned him, it would most likely mean children were not in her future. Could she perhaps take some lamb skins and fashion shoes for the babies in the world? Would that be enough? She blinked to clear her eyes. There was no sense in giving rise to those thoughts. There was only one person she wished to have children with, and he was lost to her. Creating shoes instead of children had to be enough. But would Mr. Yoder treat her as kindly if she refused his nephew? If she could convince him of his lost revenue should she marry and leave for Gideon’s farm, would he support her decision? Libby chewed on her lower lip as she strode into the cobbler shop, lost in thought.
Perhaps she should give some thought to returning to New York town. It was a big enough town to get lost in. To find a cobbler who would listen to her inventive ideas. To allow her to create shoes for babies and wealthy ladies.
Mr. Yoder inspected the leather she had softened and nodded. “I will show you how to work with the tools later today. You can practice on some scraps before you work on this. You’ve done a good job of making it supple.”
She flipped the sign on the door from “Shut” to “Open” signifying the start of her day. Despite her plans, despite spending time with Gideon, Hawk had a way of creeping into her thoughts. Another day without Hawk. Would she ever stop counting them?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Hawk and Patterson worked like a well-oiled machine, standing silently side by side in the hot smithy shop, melting lead and silver and filling the forms to create bullets. Patterson planned to head out in the morning, to Philadelphia, to deliv
er the fresh slugs to the Patriot troops and to take part in the upcoming conflicts in the area.
“Are you coming along, Hawk? Use some of these bullets to cut down a Brit or two?” Patterson finally broke the quiet.
“Non. I have changed my mind. My work for the cause is to make the bullets, not to use them.” Hawk took a breath before dipping a ladle into the hot lead and filling the nearest form.
“Your reluctance can’t be because you might run into Libby?”
Hawk raised his gaze and held the ladle steady. “She is in New York town.”
Patterson chuckled. “No, she’s not. She made a last-minute decision to head to Philadelphia instead. I checked on her shortly after she left. And when I did, the hotel proprietor said some Indian fellow had inquired about her the day before. There’s only one Indian fellow in Boston who might be interested in her whereabouts.”
Hawk tossed his plaited hair over his shoulder. “Libby’s whereabouts are not my concern. Nor are they my reason for staying behind to make bullets. All the recent battles have been British victories. We are fighting a lost cause.”
Patterson glared at him. “These are the words from A True Patriot? No one said freedom was going to be easy. The Brits are a mighty military force, but this is our land. The good guys will win out, eventually, since we are fighting for what is ours. We’ve had a victory or two this fall, and our determination stunned the British. We just have to be patient, and eventually they’ll give up.”
“It is not worth all the bloodshed, all these bullets.” Hawk flung an empty form across the room.
“It is well worth it, if you have someone to fight for.” Patterson’s eyes gleamed in the fire’s glow. “I wish for my children to have a better future than I do. My wish for them is to be free to live in peace, not having to kowtow to every British uniform they come across. Their safety, and their future, is what I’m fighting for.”