Adam sat next to her and reached out for Emma’s hand. He wasn’t sure if she would take it. But after a moment or two he felt her cold fingers against his palm.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.
“Do you want to talk about it, Clara?”
Clara thumbed through the fabric catalogs, ignoring Peter’s question. They had returned from the hospital a couple of hours ago, retrieved the children from Julia’s, and put them to bed. She nibbled at a cuticle as she tried to figure out how much fabric to order. She had to be careful not to spend too much in the beginning, yet they had to have enough inventory to draw people into the shop.
“Clara?” Peter sat down next to her at the kitchen table. A battery-operated lantern on the counter flooded the area with bright light. He took her hand from her lips and held it. “Talk to me.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” Clara withdrew her hand from Peter’s. “Grossmammi is getting gut care at the hospital. She’ll be home in a few days. By that time we should have the fabric shop ready to stock. I should probably order this fabric tomorrow. Maybe some yarn too. Knitting needles, thread—”
Mark strolled into the kitchen. “Is this a private discussion?” Without waiting for an answer, he went to the pantry and took out a box of crackers. “Thought I’d get a midnight snack.”
“As a matter of fact, this is a private conversation.” Peter stood. “Mei fraa and I were talking.”
“About Leona? I’m sure she’ll be fine.”
Clara looked up at him. He spoke the right words, the correct sentiment for the occasion, but there was no warmth in his voice, no compassion. His mouth was twisted in a smirk. His eyes held a strange, triumphant look. He seemed almost . . . happy.
Quickly he cast down his gaze, pulled out a few crackers, and put the package back in the pantry. “I’ll pray for your grossmammi, Clara.”
She glanced at her husband. Had she imagined that gleeful spark? Peter’s hand rested on the table, but his fingers were curled under, as if he were trying not to tighten his fist. Had he seen it too?
“Gut nacht.” Mark hurried out of the room.
“Clara, we have to talk,” Peter said.
“Not about Grossmammi.” She fought to hold back tears. Emma wasn’t the only one worried about her. How would they cope if they lost her, especially so soon after their mother died?
“Nee, not Leona.” A softness entered Peter’s eyes when he said her name. “About us.”
“Peter, not now.”
“Then when? When Leona gets back from the hospital? When the fabric store opens?” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “When we start sleeping in separate bedrooms?”
She glanced up at him. “That’s not going to happen.”
“We’re drifting apart, Clara. Why can’t you see that? Or maybe you do.” His brows furrowed. “Maybe it’s what you want.”
The catalog page bent in her hand. “Nee. That’s not what I want.”
Peter took her hand. “Then come with me. Come to our bed.”
Clara snatched her hand away. “Mei grossmammi’s dying and that’s all you’re thinking about? Your marital rights?”
Sadness entered Peter’s eyes. “Nee, lieb. I want to hold you. Comfort you. Tell you everything will be all right until you believe it. I want you to fall asleep in mei arms, at peace. Not toss and turn like you do every night.”
She looked away, touched by his loving words. Yet she resisted him at the same time, and didn’t understand why. She needed her husband. But she wanted to be alone.
Clara picked up another catalog, not looking at him. “I’ll be upstairs in a little bit. Make sure you don’t wake the buwe when you get in bed.”
Peter waited. Clara kept her gaze on the catalog, the fabric selections swimming in front of her eyes. Finally, he got up and left.
When he was gone, she sat there unable to move, holding her chin in her hand as the tears rolled down her face.
CHAPTER 23
“Now, now. I don’t need all this fuss.”
Emma laughed as her grandmother slowly, but with more strength than she had shown in the past two weeks, made her way into the house, flanked on each side by Peter and Norman. Adam walked behind them.
“We’re not making a fuss,” Emma said.
“Ya.” Clara stood next to Emma. “I had to stop Emma from making a welcome home banner for you.”
“I’m glad you did.” Grossmammi leaned on her cane. She turned to Norman, then to Peter. “Now shoo, both of you. I can make it to mei chair by myself.” She shuffled over and lowered herself into the seat. She leaned back, her white kapp pressing against the high back of the upholstered chair. “It’s gut to be home.”
“And we’re glad you’re back.” Carol Otto came in from the kitchen, carrying a tray laden with a teapot and several cups. She set the tray on the coffee table in the middle of the living room. “I knew you’d want tea when you got home.”
The old woman nodded and accepted the cup. Her hands were steady. Emma released her breath, relieved. Her grandmother’s complexion was vibrant, her voice stronger. The week she’d spent in the hospital, receiving medication, being forced to rest, and gaining back her energy was well worth the huge bills that would arrive soon.
Yet instead of fretting as she did after her mammi died, Emma clung to the words she’d spoken in the hospital emergency room. God will provide. She didn’t know how. It wasn’t her place to know. It was her place to grasp on to her faith and accept.
“Glad you’re back where you belong, Leona,” Adam said.
The two of them looked at each other for a moment. Adam nodded. “I’ll be outside if you need me.”
Emma watched Adam leave. During the week her grandmother had been gone, he’d spent most of his time at the house, taking care of Dill, feeding the chickens, gathering the eggs, tending to the dogs and cats, keeping the barn clean. He had fixed the loose boards on the front porch, had split and stacked enough wood to last them through winter, had done a dozen other odd jobs around the place.
And all without asking anything in return.
Carol sat on the couch near Grossmammi’s chair. The two women were deep in conversation; Peter and Norman had already left.
Clara nodded toward Emma. “Let’s geh outside.”
It was nearing the end of October. The cool air brushed across Emma’s cheeks. She saw Adam disappear into the barn. He’d been checking on Dill every day, making sure the horse spent time outside eating grass and getting light exercise. He’d taken her to his father’s pasture. Norman hadn’t objected. Maybe he and Adam were finally making amends.
“I guess Peter went back to the shop.” Clara folded her hands in front of her. “It’s nearly ready to open. We’re just waiting on the last of the inventory. You’ve spent a lot of time at the hospital, so you haven’t seen the progress.” She turned to Emma. “Would you like to?”
Emma hesitated. Her grandmother’s illness had given her an excuse not to go inside her grandfather’s workshop. She already saw the changes on the outside. New wood slab siding, complete with a fresh coat of white paint. New roof shingles. There was a brand-new oak door, stained a honey brown color, with shiny brass hardware. The place looked beautiful. Inviting. And ready for business.
With trepidation Emma headed toward the workshop. She and Clara stopped in front of the door. She turned to her sister. “Peter’s done a wonderful job,” Emma said.
“Wait until you see the inside.”
The transformation amazed Emma. The layers of dust and grime and rust had been scoured away, but the walls still had their natural, rough-hewn look. Against one wall a large wooden square, divided into separate cubbyholes, held different colors of yarn. Next to it was a rack filled with fabric. The plain blue, green, gray, purple, and pale green hues used to make Amish dresses, plus some fancier quilting fabric. There was plenty of space in the shop for more bolts of fabric, but enough to get the store started.
As she
walked through the shop, her footsteps echoed against a brand-new floor. The old rough wood had been replaced with new varnished planks. It gave the shop a finished look.
“Norman donated the wood,” Clara said. “He and Adam installed the floor.”
Emma glanced at her sister. Clara stared straight ahead, but Emma could sense her gratitude.
Her gaze traveled to the back wall, next to the window. She saw a small version of her grandfather’s pegboard attached to the wall. His four favorite tools—an old hammer, a rusty wood plane, a dull chisel, and a T-square hung on the board.
“That was Peter’s idea.” Clara folded her arms. “I argued with him at first. Tools don’t belong in a fabric shop.” She sighed. “But he was right. It’s like having a part of Grossvadder here with us.”
Emma swallowed past the lump in her throat. Even among the fabric and yarn, her grandfather’s memory shone through.
“So what do you think?”
She turned around at the male voice. “Mark. I didn’t realize you were here.” She looked back over the shop. “It’s wonderful. Beyond what I ever expected.” Or wanted. But now she could see her sister’s vision. She even shared it. She regretted giving Clara such a hard time.
“Can’t take much of the credit.” Mark shrugged. “Clara and Peter worked overtime this week to get things ready.”
“Thankfully Julia was willing to watch the kinner.” Clara sighed. “I’ll be glad when I can spend more time with them again.” She looked at Emma. “I’ve missed them.”
Emma vowed to give her sister a break once the shop opened. She looked at it again, imagining customers streaming in. She would set a rocking chair in the corner for Grossmammi. Her grandmother would love to visit with the patrons, both Amish and Yankee.
Mark stepped between Emma and Clara. He spoke in a soft tone and grinned. “Now that your grossmammi’s feeling better, I’d like to take you out to supper. If that’s agreeable to you.”
“I don’t know, Mark. I’ve been at the hospital so much this week. I really want to stay home.”
His smile slipped. “Another time, then. When you’ve had some time to spend with your familye.”
Emma paused. She had to be honest with him. It wasn’t fair to let him think they had a chance together.
Then a thought occurred to her. She had never seen Adam’s decision to leave from his point of view before. Instead she had wrapped herself in layers of anger, hurt, and resentment. But he had only been trying to be fair to her, the way she needed to be with Mark. Why hadn’t she seen it?
“Emma?”
She jerked her head and looked at Mark. “Sorry. I was lost in mei thoughts for a moment. Can I talk to you?”
“Right now?”
“Ya. In private.”
Clara started to move. “I’ll leave you two alone, then.”
Emma shook her head. “Nee. I need to check on Grossmammi.” She looked up at Mark. “Why don’t you come inside? I’m sure she’d like to see you.”
He took a step back from Emma, his eyes widening for a split second. Then he smiled, shaking his head. “I’m sure she’s not up for much company. I’ll pay her a visit later.”
“All right. We can talk on the front porch afterward, then. I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”
“Looking forward to it.”
As Emma turned to leave, Peter came in. He had his hands behind his back. “How do you like the shop, Emma?”
She grinned. “It’s wonderful, Peter. Just wonderful.”
He turned to Mark. “I need to talk to Clara for a minute. If you don’t mind.”
Emma noticed that Peter’s expression had turned cold when he spoke to Mark. If his cousin noticed, he didn’t say anything. “Sure. Emma, I’ll walk you to the house.”
But as they left the shop, Emma saw Mark glance over his shoulder at Peter and Clara.
“Emma liked the tools,” Clara said.
“I thought she would. I couldn’t bear to part with his favorite ones.”
Clara looked into the gentle eyes of her husband. Over the past week, as they had worked together to refinish the shop, something between them had changed. They hadn’t said much, but she didn’t feel the tension that had been between them for the past couple of months. She realized this morning that for the first time they were working together toward a goal, instead of working against each other. She went to him and stood on her tiptoes. Kissed his cheek.
His face turned red. “What was that for?”
“Do I need to have a reason?”
Peter’s brow furrowed. “Lately, I think so.” When Clara started to frown, he quickly added, “But I’ll take it.” He smiled. “I brought you something.”
“Oh?”
Peter moved his hands from behind his back. “Here. It wouldn’t be a proper shop without a proper sign.”
Clara took the carved wooden sign from Peter’s hands. SHETLERS’ FABRICS. The words were chiseled in the soft wood. A thin scrolling surrounded the name. The sign was simple. Plain. Perfect. She set it on the windowsill and stood back to admire it. “Where did you get this?”
“I made it. Found some spare wood while I was cleaning out the shop. Didn’t take me long.” He glanced away. “I had the free time to do it.”
Clara knew he wasn’t just talking about not having a job. Their distance from each other, both physical and emotional, had taken a toll on them both. Suddenly everything she’d been holding inside—the grief, guilt, worry, resentment, empty faith—all came rushing to the surface. She burst into tears.
“Clara?” Peter put his hands on her shoulders. When she didn’t resist, she felt him pull her against him and lean his cheek against the top of her head. “Clara, what is it?”
“I’m sorry.” She turned her face into his jacket, breathing in the scent of wood smoke and sawdust. “I’ve been a horrible fraa.”
“Nee.” He stroked her back, tightening his embrace. “You haven’t.”
“Don’t try to make me feel better.”
He pulled back from her and rubbed her damp cheeks with his rough thumbs. “Clara, that’s what I’m supposed to do. It’s what I want to do.” He leaned down and cupped her face. “I’ve been waiting for you to let geh of all this for a long time.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever known. I knew that through your letters. I fell in love with your confidence. Your independence. And when I met you, I saw how beautiful you were, how kind. I knew I was blessed.”
He held up a hand to stop her from interrupting. “But you’re not perfect. None of us are. It’s why we need Jesus. Why we need to lean on the Lord. To let Him help us. You want to fix everything, do everything yourself.”
Tears continued to build up, making Clara’s chest hurt. “But I can’t.”
Peter shook his head. “Nee. You’ve never taken time to grieve your mammi. You’ve worried too much about money. About me finding a job.” He kissed her cheek. “You’ve worked on this shop until you’re exhausted. And then Leona took ill. It’s too much to keep inside, Clara. Give some of your burden to me. Let me help you give all of it to God.” He drew her back into his arms. “Allow yourself peace, lieb.”
Mark tapped his fingers against the hickory rocker on the Shetlers’ front porch. Emma had kept him waiting here for over an hour. Dusk had already descended, and a short while ago he saw Peter and Clara head for home. He frowned, disturbed at the image of his cousin and his wife. They were holding hands. At one point she rested her head against his arm. Something had happened in the workshop after he left.
He rose and started to pace. It hadn’t been this difficult with Laura. And he’d been attracted to her, at least physically. But that didn’t stop him from taking what he wanted. She had made it so easy.
Unlike Emma.
He fought the urge to pound his fist against the porch railing. They were all getting under his skin. His dullard cousin, along with his controlling wif
e. Their noisy kids. Dumpy Emma. That idiot Adam. But most of all, the old woman.
Even being out here on her porch made his soul curdle. He’d never had such a reaction to anyone before. He searched hard to define it. Last night it came to him, unsettling him even more.
Fear.
He was afraid of her. And he had no idea why.
He stepped off the porch and looked around. Was there anything here worth going through with this? While Emma had been at the hospital and Clara and Peter had been working on the shop, he’d taken time to search the land, the barn, the house. No cash assets to speak of, but if he could marry Emma and sell everything out from under her, he’d make out pretty well. Once he left her and Middlefield behind, of course, she wouldn’t be able to divorce him and marry someone else; it wasn’t the Amish way. But he didn’t care. He’d have what he came here for.
During his time spent in town, he had looked into property values. Assuming he could find a buyer, he stood to pocket a tidy sum. But only if he and Emma married. And he didn’t see that happening. At least not as long as Adam Otto was in the way.
He ought to just leave Middlefield, cut his losses and get out. But pride wouldn’t let him concede, not quite yet. He wasn’t about to let these dummkopfs get the best of him.
He looked over at the shiny black pickup truck parked in the Ottos’ driveway. Adam hadn’t parted with it; maybe that was a hopeful sign. Maybe Adam would leave again, breaking Emma’s heart once more. And Mark would be there to pick up the pieces.
But his patience was running thin. It was time to give the Yankee boy a little push in that direction.
The door opened with a squeak. Finally Emma had arrived. Mark turned back to the porch.
But it wasn’t Emma. It was Leona.
“Sit down, yung mann. I want a word with you.” Leona leaned on her cane and pointed to her late son’s hickory rocker. She wasn’t surprised to see Mark recoil for an instant; she knew quite well how he responded to her. It took a moment for him to recover, to resume his casual stance.
The Middlefield Family Collection Page 18