A Season of Change

by Lynette Sowell

  “Will you be going to the Haiti auction this weekend?” Her question interrupted his thoughts.

  “Probably. With most of the family in town, even unexpectedly, I’m sure they’ll want to seize the chance to see friends while they can. No one will frown at them not staying home.”

  “I’ve heard I should bring my appetite.” Natalie clicked on the turn signal. Yes, she did say their trip home would be much faster this way.

  “True, very true.”

  “I want a soft pretzel and a chocolate fried pie,” said Zeke from the back seat.

  “We can do that. If Rebecca isn’t feeling well tomorrow, I’ll stay with her and you can go with mammi.”

  “I might even go, too.” Natalie glanced at the rearview mirror and smiled.

  12

  Saturday silks classes ended at noon, and Natalie breezed through her paperwork. She had plenty of time to head to the Sarasota fairgrounds to the Haiti benefit auction. Her meager budget allowed her room for a good meal and some snacks, but probably not an auction item like an Amish-made quilt.

  Still, it would be fun to watch. And anyway, she and Rachel Miller would soon begin working on her mother’s unfinished quilt. So, that counted as Amish-made, since Natalie figured Rachel would end up doing a good deal of stitching.

  Imogene promised to be at the auction, too, along with her camera. “You must come. Maybe we’ll make some headway on finding your family.”

  No one had admitted to knowing her Yoder grandparents so far, but lately the village’s attention was on the Millers and their latest bout with grief. Oh, to be part of a family who stretched beyond mere genetics. Grace, though her boss, was probably the closest almost-family Natalie had.

  Thinking of her boss and friend, Natalie popped into Grace’s office. “I’m through. Off to the Haiti auction.”

  “Do you have your prayer kapp and dress ready?”

  “No, I hadn’t thought about that.”

  “It’s a joke, Nat.” Grace smiled as she stood and stretched. “You’re not seriously considering . . .”

  Natalie shook her head. “No, not really. Finding my mother’s family is plenty enough for me.”

  “The Amish are a tight group. I watched one of those ‘out of Amish’ shows. It seems like they can be pretty hateful to those who leave them. I can’t imagine being treated like that by family, turning my back on them because I don’t agree with their lifestyle.”

  “Not all of them are hateful, but no, I couldn’t imagine family treating me like that, either. Imogene—a former Amish woman who lives in the village—said maybe my mom’s family doesn’t want me to find them, and not to be surprised if I don’t hear anything. But the way they all take care of each other . . . it’s true fellowship.”

  “You almost sound like you want to convert.” Grace smiled. “My young queen of the aerial silks, trading her leotard and costumes for a Plain dress.”

  “I only want my family,” Natalie managed to say. “Say, do you want to come with me to the auction? It’s open to the public. I heard they have all kinds of things for sale—from farm equipment to furniture, handwoven rugs, even hand-pieced quilts.”

  “Well, I can’t say I have much use for a hay baler, but the furniture part, and handmade quilts . . .” Grace paused for a moment. “Wait for me. I’ll get my purse. It’ll be fun.”

  Of course it would be. Anything with Grace was made fun just by the older woman being there, lending her warmth and laughter and hilarity to situations.

  “Do you want to ride together, or follow me there?”

  “We should probably take separate cars. I need to leave around three. Dog groomer’s. Queso and Burrito’s nails are sharp enough to leave marks.”

  In less than twenty minutes, with Grace following in her wake, Natalie made it to the Sarasota fairgrounds and waited in a stream of vehicles to park. She glanced in the mirror. Grace waved from her car. What would Grace think of this glimpse into a different world, far different from the colorful pageantry and performance of the circus?

  A crowd surged around the main arena and large white rectangular tents dotted the yard of the outer fairgrounds. How could anyone locate friends in a crowd like this, unless they made plans to meet at a specific place?

  “Look at that sea of white bonnets.” Grace scanned the outer courtyard. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. Some of them are very, very different from the others. Look, that lady’s head covering almost resembles a doily. She must be a more liberal one.” She stepped over a curb, and Natalie led the way into the arena.

  “Probably. I’m not sure.” Natalie tried not to chuckle at her friend’s observation.

  First was the tool auction area, where a kaleidoscope of varying colors and lengths of beards lined the bleachers. Up for auction was a woodworking tool set, a perfect gift for a young man.

  Natalie had heard that Jacob’s primary occupation in Ohio was as a cabinet-maker. Did he miss it, now as he made the rounds with a Mennonite man named Henry who was a general contractor and fix-it guy?

  “Nope, I’ve definitely never seen anything like this,” Grace repeated. “But I’m not into the tool auction.”

  Natalie picked up a program at a nearby table. “It’s time for some of the quilts to be auctioned off on the other side of the arena.”

  “Oh, can’t wait to see them.” Grace beamed. “I might even make a bid or two, myself.”

  Just past the tool auction area lay the main auction space. A long elevated stage ran the length of the building, flanked on one side by the bleachers and facing rows and rows of folding chairs. At the back of the arena stood a line of tables with signs above each labeled Registration, Pickup, and Information.

  “I’m going to register for a number,” Grace said, tugging on Natalie’s arm. “I should if I’m going to bid.”

  Natalie laughed. “All right, then, let’s go.” She avoided the urge to scan the crowd for the Millers, for now. Maybe it was too early for Rachel to be in public. But then, she didn’t know much about Amish funeral and grieving practices.

  Right now, a quilt was being shown off by a pair of Amish or Mennonite women, Natalie couldn’t discern. These ladies, however, didn’t wear the more formal-looking aprons, so she guessed they were Mennonite. The quilt pattern, a vivid rose chain, had thousands of stitches covering the off-white surface of the quilt.

  “Beautiful,” Natalie said aloud.

  “Ah, that it is,” said a woman at her side. She wore a vivid burgundy cape dress under her black apron, fixed in place with straight pins. “I donated that one—I didn’t make it, though. I bought it at an auction myself for nowhere near what it’s really worth.”

  “I can’t believe someone couldn’t see its value.”

  “They probably did, but I knew had to buy it. Right now the bid is up to nine hundred dollars.” The woman nodded. “That’s a more fitting price, I think, and all that money will do someone some good.”

  “Here, I’ve got my number,” Grace said as she approached, waving a card. “Oh, is this one of your Amish friends?”

  “We just met,” Natalie began.

  “Anna Yoder,” said the woman, shaking hands with Grace, and then with Natalie. “Is this the first time you’ve attended the auction?”

  Anna Yoder. Her grandmother’s name. Natalie’s throat tightened. “Yes, for both of us,” Natalie said.

  “Well, I hope you enjoy it. The food is special, because it is made by women from all over the country, New Order, Old Order, and Mennonites visiting Pinecraft.”

  “We plan on it.” Natalie smiled at Anna Yoder and a hope crept into her heart. “Anna, if you don’t mind me asking, do you have any daughters?”

  “Yah, why I have three daughters. Seven kinner altogether.”

  “Do, or did, you have a daughter named Katie?” She felt Grace’s hand gripping hers.

  “Why, yes.” Anna paused. “Why do you ask?”

  “My mother is . . . was . . . a Yoder,
named Katie, who left her Order. I’ve been searching for her family.”

  “Oh, dear child, it couldn’t be my Katie. She is married, named Katie Fry, lives two miles from my husband and I, and has four children of her own. It couldn’t be the same Katie Yoder.”

  Natalie tried to shrug off the sting and disappointment. “No, it couldn’t be.”

  “What happened to your mudder? Where is she?”

  “She . . . she passed away last summer.”

  “Ach, I am sorry to hear that. Well, I will pray for you to find your Mammi Yoder.”

  “Thank you, Anna.”

  “Ach, there’s my cousin, and I haven’t seen her since last winter.” Anna waved across the crowd. “Gotte bless both of you ladies.”

  “Thank you,” Natalie repeated as Anna left them. She turned to face Grace. “Everyone is so kind.” She blinked back tears, not expecting the surge of emotions that meeting Anna would bring.

  Grace snorted. “I’m sure they have their bad days just like the rest of us.” She slung her arm around Natalie’s shoulders. “Chin up, hon. You’ll find her. It might take time, but I’m sure it’ll happen.”

  Natalie nodded. She shifted on her feet. Us and them, Grace had said. They were the outsiders, and she felt it acutely. Was it clothing, or mindset, or both?

  “So, what’s next?” Grace pointed at the program Natalie held. “More quilts, I hope?”

  “If you want to hang out here and bid, that’s fine with me.” Natalie thumbed through the program’s pages. “Okay, that was the ‘Rose Garden’ quilt. The next two are the ‘Star of Bethlehem’ and the ‘Wedding Ring Rose.’”

  “Well, I’m going for it.” Grace studied the stage. “One of those two quilts will be mine.”

  Natalie tried not to laugh at her older friend’s intensity and found herself studying the crowd. The more she saw the Amish and Mennonites of Pinecraft, she saw subtle differences in dresses and kapps. Anna Yoder’s dark apron signified she was Old Order, likely from Pennsylvania. And the more liberal Mennonites didn’t dress or look much different from Natalie. One neighbor of the Millers’ two doors down wore her hair cropped short and also wore capris.

  The next quilt came up for bid and the first bid was three hundred dollars out of the gate. Grace countered with her own bid of four hundred dollars, and off she went. An Amish man in the front row would raise his card, as did a woman seated halfway back in the bleachers.

  “It’s for a good cause,” Grace said, waving her card for a six hundred dollar bid.

  “Are you reminding yourself of that?” Natalie chuckled. Despite their nonaggressive and pacifist beliefs, the Amish and Mennonites were fierce bidders. Did the woman bidding on the quilt from the bleachers donate the quilt and wanted to make sure it went for a large donation?

  The program proclaimed that last year’s auction had raised more than one-quarter-million dollars at the one-day event, a testimony to what a varied group of people could accomplish when they set their minds and hearts to work together.

  “Fourteen hundred? Do I hear fourteen hundred?” the auctioneer called into the microphone, his gaze drifting from the Amish man, to Grace, and then the Mennonite lady in the bleachers.

  Grace frowned. “Todd would kill me if I spent that much on a quilt for the guest room, even for a good cause,” she murmured to Natalie.

  The star quilt auction closed to a round of applause.

  “Next up, ‘Wedding Ring Rose Quilt,’ number one-three-three,” said the auctioneer.

  “Here we go, girlfriend, one more quilt coming up.” Grace clutched her card.

  A flurry of bids later, and the Wedding Ring Rose belonged to Grace, with a closing bid of nine hundred dollars. Cheeks flushed, Grace hugged Natalie.

  “It’s mine.” She practically dragged Natalie over to the payment table.

  “Ach,” the woman behind the table said when she saw Natalie, “You’re the Millers’ friend. I saw you at the funeral earlier this week.”

  “Yes, I was there,” Natalie said. “My heart goes out to them. The family has been through a lot.”

  “Gotte has His ways, but still, I pray they have peace for a good long time.” The woman signed off on the auction item—the quilt was indeed won and paid for in full by Grace Montgomery.

  “Me too.”

  “The Millers are here today, though.” The woman wrote a receipt in her book.

  “I haven’t seen them yet, but I’ll be sure to look for them.” Natalie resisted a glance over her shoulder back at the crowd. No, she couldn’t imagine them keeping little Zeke seated, watching quilts be auctioned one by one. He’d probably be somewhere outside among the tents.

  The woman handed the receipt to Grace. “There. Present this when you pick up your quilt. You don’t have to pick it up now, not if you’re headed to the food tents. People can pick up their winnings when they leave the auction.”

  “Thank you, Ma’am,” said Grace. “This will make a lovely addition to my guest room.”

  “That quilt was made in Shipshe,” said the lady at the desk, as if guessing Natalie’s thoughts.

  “Shipshe?” Grace echoed.

  “Shipshewana, Indiana. Made special for today.” The woman’s cheeks blushed red.

  “Did you make it?” asked Natalie.

  The woman’s head bobbed. “Well, I helped. It’s my pattern, actually.”

  Grace placed her hand on her heart. “Oh, well, it means so much more now that we’ve met one of its creators, Mrs. . . . ?”

  “Byler. Stella Byler.” The woman smiled. “I’m glad it’s gone to someone who will love it.”

  A line had formed behind them, so Natalie nudged Grace. “Are you ready to go see the other tents?”

  “Okay.” They ambled off together, after saying goodbye to Mrs. Byler. “So, your Millers are here today. I hope I get to meet them.”

  “My Millers, huh?” Natalie stepped out of the arena, blinking at the sudden sunlight. “If they’re here today, I’m sure it’ll be at the food tents.”

  “You have a unique connection to the family, you know.”

  Natalie nodded. “I start working on the quilt top on Monday. I asked Rachel if it wasn’t a good time, but she assured me that finishing this quilt with me was the best thing for her to do right now.”

  “Have you ever sewn anything before?”

  “Just a minor repair or two on a costume, or sewing on a button, but nothing as large as a quilt. I hope I don’t ruin it.”

  “Of course you won’t, not with an expert overseeing the project.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “Miss Natalie!” The perky voice of a child rang out among the crowd.

  “That must be one of your fans.” Grace pointed toward a cluster of people, heading in the same direction.

  It was the Millers, with Rebecca on crutches and Zeke pelting in her direction.

  And today, when Natalie’s eyes met Jacob’s, she could have sworn she saw a light go on in those blue eyes of his.

  Jacob’s palms felt as clammy and cold as the old root cellar in Ohio. Now, this wasn’t supposed to happen. His mouth was parched, although he’d just sampled a piece of orange over at the produce tent.

  It should be Betsy Yoder heading in their direction, making him all naerfich and jumbled inside, not the Englisch woman with Amish ties.

  He felt his brother’s eyes on him, listened to Katie greeting Natalie again.

  An older woman was with Natalie, with a shade of platinum blonde hair. She was probably about his own mother’s age, but didn’t dress like a woman of that age.

  Natalie introduced her. “This is Grace Montgomery, my boss and my friend.”

  “Nice to meet all of you,” Mrs. Montgomery was saying. “Natalie has told me about you all.” She leaned over. “And you must be Rebecca, one brave little girl.”

  Rebecca nodded, then glanced up at Jacob. “We have to stay in Pinecraft until I get better.”

  �
�How is she doing now?” asked Natalie. “The other day, she had a fever.”

  “It was gone the next morning,” Jacob said, grateful his voice wasn’t betraying him.

  “That’s good, very good.”

  “Will you have lunch with us?” Rebecca asked. “We’re going to the food tent.”

  “I think we can do that.”

  So Jacob gathered the children, or attempted to, but Zeke stuck next to Natalie, holding her hand and telling her about more fish.

  “Maybe we can go fishing sometime. I like it, but I haven’t been in a long time,” Natalie said.

  Ephraim coughed where he stood at Jacob’s elbow. “So how’s Betsy?”

  “Fine, I’m sure.”

  “She caused quite a ruckus with some of her family, staying here in Florida.”

  “I’m not surprised.” They entered the tent, filled with the scent of pie and barbecue and freshly cooked pretzels. Jacob’s stomach rumbled. “We’ve run into each other a few times. She’s been a big help, after Daadi’s death.”

  “Any news then?”

  “No news.” Jacob watched Natalie, talking to Grace and Zeke, then pointing at the menu for fried pies. He’d better intervene before Zeke got his way and had dessert before his lunch. He stepped away from Ephraim.

  “I don’t think your daed would want you to have a chocolate fried pie before you have your lunch,” Natalie was saying. “Although a chocolate fried pie sounds super delicious.”

  “Natalie’s right, son,” Jacob said, resting his hand on Zeke’s shoulder. “You can have either a barbecue sandwich or a catfish plate.”

  “Fish!” Zeke said.

  “And then we’ll come back for pies.”

  Natalie laughed and her eyes met his. The memory of the other night in the backyard came roaring back into his head as the group started moving again. And just like the other night, he saw Betsy in the corner of his eye. He glanced in her direction. She was busily folding fresh fried pies, crimping the edges of the dough semicircles.