Gathering the Threads

by Cindy Woodsmall

  “ ‘Accordingly,’ ” Skylar said. “Didn’t you take note of the angel’s smoothness?”

  “She’s right,” Ariana said. “That was the gloss-over word, not fully honest, not dishonest. I kept a portion from everyone’s paycheck based on the agreement made when you began looking for a doctor, but I kept more from hers, just enough that she’ll feel as if she paid for her own medical bills. But she didn’t.”

  “But she deserves to have all she worked for,” Martha said. “We did the medical bills as a gift.”

  “This way frees her, Martha. She will no longer feel as if she owes any of us.”

  Abram pointed at Ariana. “Welcome back.”

  Ariana dipped her head as if bowing. “I knew you’d like that plan.” She cleared her throat and handed out the other envelopes. “The sums in the envelopes aren’t the same even though you basically all worked the same number of hours. I used an Englisch formula to arrive at the pay grade. If you disagree with what I’ve done, let’s talk about it.”

  Skylar tapped her envelope on the table. “Anyone want to guess who made the least?”

  Ariana raised an eyebrow. “I’d rather you didn’t. It’s best not to discuss wages. I’d like that to be the policy, no talking about it.”

  “Isn’t that just great for you.”

  Ariana slammed her hands on the table. “What is your problem, Skylar?” Ariana closed her eyes, regaining control. “You didn’t earn the least. You were paid based on your personal contribution, which was quite significant, not just for the last few months, but for years to come because you knew how important various coffees are to people, types of coffee I hadn’t even heard of until I was in your world. I’m grateful for what you’ve done, and I did not let your mouthy attitude toward me get in the way of the math.”

  “My mouthy attitude? I’ve hardly said a word to you in weeks.”

  “But you’ve made yourself heard, haven’t you?”

  “Finally the queen speaks an ounce of truth. Admit it: you really don’t want me in your home.”

  “If it’s truth you want, I suggest you stop looking at me or Brandi or Nicholas as the source of the sour milk inside you and look in the mirror. They love you, Skylar. I am grateful to you beyond words. But you never look over the fence into our lives and see the bounty of the garden we’d like to share with you. You only see the weeds.”

  Abram saw both sides to the emotions being displayed, but Ariana was trying to be fair and kind, and Skylar was clearly trying to ruffle feathers. Was Skylar looking for an excuse to quit the café and walk away from the Brennemans?

  Cilla walked back in. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but something’s wrong with the rigging again.”

  As much as Abram had hoped to avoid time alone with Cilla, he was grateful for an excuse to get away from this escalating rivalry.

  He rose. “I’ll tend to it. You stay inside where it’s warm until I have it fixed.” He put on his coat and went outside.

  Cilla followed him. “It’s really exciting about the money, isn’t it?”

  “Ya.” Abram inspected the rigging.

  “Any fun plans?”

  “Nee.” He continued following the leather lines.

  “I know what I want. I want ice cream.” Her teeth chattered as she jumped up and down to stay warm. She was teasing, and he refused to get pulled into it.

  “The breeching near the tug needs repair.” Abram went to his rig and pulled out the repair box. He toted it to her carriage and set it in the snow. He had repaired this same spot once before. “You used the wrong rigging again.”

  “Nee.” Cilla removed her gloves and tugged on the tattered leather. “I was paying attention this time, but the good ones were taken, and my only choice was to use this or stay home.”

  “It’ll take me a bit to fix it. You should go back inside where it’s warm.”

  “You sound as if you’re concerned, but I think you’re just trying to get rid of me. You’ve hardly said a word to me all week, and it’s not my imagination, Abram.”

  Most of his life he’d been too awkward, too weird, too quiet to have a connection with a girl he liked—until he got to know Cilla. But now her situation had changed, and his current goal was the same as it’d been all week: get her in the rig and gone with as little interaction between the two of them as he could get away with.

  “Abram…what’s going on with you?” Her soft voice seemed to fill him. “I thought maybe you were worried about Ariana. But she seems to be faring better than we are.”

  He couldn’t think of anything to say.

  “You can talk to me about anything. If you doubt that, just look at all we’ve been through over the last five months.”

  His mind reeled with memories. She was a good listener, a hard worker, and a lot of fun to be around. He opened the repair box and searched for the right leather strips. “I’m sure I have what’s needed.”

  “So either I can drop it or continue to beg you to let me in. Is that it?” Her voice shook a little at the end of her sentence, and he knew he would have to come clean or he’d hurt her even worse.

  “I don’t know how to say it. I may say things wrong and hurt you.” He found several of the straps he was looking for and turned around to face her.

  “Just try, please. For me.”

  Abram looked at the ground. There was no easy way to say what was on his mind. “Now that you’re better, you’ve got other men interested in you. Problem is, you’re interested right back. That’s fine. You should be.”

  Cilla looked as if his words were hot pokers. “I wasn’t…I would never…” She took a breath, closed her eyes, and seemed to be trying to refocus her thoughts. “Abram, sick or well, I like being with you.” She took the leather strips from his hands and threw them on the ground. “I’ve been very clear how I feel, how I’ve always felt. You’re the one who asked me to slow things down. You!” She stormed off, heading for the café.

  Her words washed over him. Had he let jealousy and insecurity cause him to see things that didn’t exist? New guys were interested. He hadn’t imagined that part. “Wait.” He hurried to catch up with her. “Please.”

  She stopped, and he moved in front of her, facing her.

  Her beautiful hazel eyes had tears. “Abram, how could you not talk to me about this?”

  “I didn’t know how to begin, what to say.”

  All traces of anger disappeared. “Oh. This is my fault. I should’ve—”

  “Saul?”

  “He can be funny.” She peered at the door, as if making sure no one was there to hear her. “But that’s his only quality. I would trust a rabid dog more, and since he dated my sister, I’ve got my reasons for knowing things about him.”

  “Gut.” Relief surged through him.

  She walked back toward the rig and picked up the straps she’d tossed into the snow. “I know how hard it is for you to speak your mind, and I should’ve prodded you when I noticed something was different.”

  Was that who he was, a man unable to speak his mind? He didn’t like that description at all.

  She smiled. “I’m sorry, Abram. I—”

  He silenced any more apologies with a kiss. Her lips were soft and warm, thawing parts of his soul that he hadn’t realized were chilled.

  Ariana rinsed a roasting pan and passed it to Rudy while his aunt’s voice droned on, touting the virtues of women submitting to and obeying the men in their lives. Betsy’s words were honest, and Ariana understood the value, but a little silence would be nice.

  Outside Betsy’s kitchen window, the late-afternoon sun glimmered against the snow. Coming here today was supposed to provide a safe haven, a break from all the tension in the Brenneman home, but strain had filled the house from the moment Ariana entered hours ago. Apparently Rudy had misjudged his aunt’s and uncle’s empathy for the position Ariana was in with the ministers.

  She tuned out the woman’s preaching and sank into the reprieve of the beauty outsid
e the window. Light refracted off the snow, sparkling with what appeared to be gold and silver. She needed God’s light to reflect off her.

  Last Sunday the preachers had railed against her, she’d found the puppy, and then she’d argued with Quill for being so clammed up about his life. The visit from the ministers at Berta’s house had been long and boring, but she wasn’t leaving Berta to deal with the men on her own. Rumors were flying about her, and she hadn’t found the missing money. But she had balanced the café ledgers, and with the loan from Nicholas, she had paid everyone.

  What a week it’d been, filled with too many emotions she still didn’t know what to do with. When it was time for Rudy and her to meet with Quill, she hoped her overwrought emotions didn’t spill over on him again.

  The aroma from the chocolate-chip cookies Ariana was baking filled the air. Some were for Quill, for the meeting they would have soon. She needed a peace offering. If he never wanted to share a personal thing with her, he had that right. Moreover, she’d been wrong to ask. On the rare occasions that she and Quill would see each other from here forward, she needed to keep her distance, physically and emotionally. Rudy had been very clear about that, and she understood. But if his aunt and uncle knew that some of those cookies were for Quill or that she and Rudy would meet with him, they’d be furious with her and Rudy.

  “I just don’t understand you, Ariana.” Betsy sounded as if she was at a counter behind Ariana, probably helping her clean up. “I’ve known you all my life, and even though I feared Quill Schlabach would eventually try to sway your thinking, I always believed you had a good head on your shoulders. But while you were draus in da world, you let him influence you. That’s what the bishop says, and I think—”

  “Aenti Betsy.” Rudy’s tone was respectful, but there was no denying he was asking her to stop.

  “Well,” Betsy huffed, “I’ll leave you two alone now.” She put something in the fridge and clomped up the stairway.

  “Sorry,” Rudy whispered.

  Ariana bit back disappointment and managed a nod. If Rudy’s aunt and uncle felt this way, his parents did too, only they lived too far away to complain to her in person.

  It seemed so strange to think that a few months ago she would’ve felt the same as Rudy’s aunt toward any girl behaving as Ariana was. But something was wrong inside this community. Maybe it was her. Maybe it wasn’t. Either way, she couldn’t commit to becoming a part of it until she knew.

  Rudy held the pan in front of her, between her and the window, clearly aiming to pull her attention back to the room. He rubbed the dry towel over it vigorously. “You do know this dishwashing help is only a dating ritual.” Rudy grinned, staring down at her as he moved in closer. “Right?”

  Apparently he wanted to change the subject and lighten the mood. Ariana stared up at him, trying to play along as his eyes bore into hers. “Salome has somewhat informed me of this phenomenon, ya.”

  “Big sisters are useful for something after all, I suppose.”

  “So you consider it useful that she’s said men only help in the kitchen while dating?”

  “Ya, it kept me from having to explain it to you, didn’t it?” The grin on his adorable face did lighten her mood, and it was just playfulness. Emanuel had continued to help Salome with dishes throughout the first few years of marriage, but then his workload became such that dishes just weren’t on his list.

  Rudy seemed to be trying to ignore the tension that now filled every house she entered. It was really the only power anyone who cared about her had—to behave as if everything were normal. At least his aunt and uncle had put effort into making small talk during the Sunday lunch. But once the meal was over, his aunt and uncle had shared their opinions, and then he had retired to sit next to the fireplace and read.

  “True.” She ran the scrubby back and forth against the last pan. “Would it have been so hard to explain it to me?”

  “Maybe.” His dark-brown eyes reflected amusement. “Depends on who I was talking to—the old you or the newer, distracted you.”

  “Hey.” She brought her hand out of the dishwater and flicked suds at him. “Watch it.”

  He laughed and grabbed her by the wrist. After glancing to the various doorways that led to the kitchen, he pulled her close and put one hand on the small of her back. “Of course, as we both know, you could talk me into helping you with anything. That won’t change after we’re married.”

  “Gut. I like that answer.” She played with the collar of his shirt.

  “We can make this work, Ari. You can go without a phone until we’re married. I’m going with you to see Quill. It’s a tad of inconvenience in order for you to make things right with the ministers.”

  She pulled away and took a sheet of cookies out of the oven, inspecting the color and glossiness. “I didn’t make things wrong with them.” She glanced at him.

  Playfulness disappeared from his face, and anger filled his eyes. “It’s been a week, and they are ready for you to commit to the offer. I don’t understand your hesitancy, especially since you turned off your phone and you’re taking me with you to see Quill. Clearly you’re willing to compromise.”

  “I did those things for you, for us, not for them. They raked me over the coals in front of everyone, and because of your remarkable peacemaking skills, they’ve agreed to be reasonable. Will there be a public apology? An effort to undo the damage to my reputation? We both know there won’t be.”

  “Your reputation will heal on its own once we’re married.”

  Tempering a loud sigh, she nodded. He was right, but it wasn’t fair, and she was tired of their marriage being talked about as a way to set everything right. Weddings were meant to be a union created out of love and blessed by God, not an insurance policy that covered cleaning up past messes. Besides, she hadn’t made this mess. The ministers had. She’d handled a few things wrong, and they magnified them beyond reason.

  “The bishop dropped by the shop, and I asked if it would help if we married sooner, and he’s considering letting us marry before couples are published.”

  Anxiety balled in her chest. “That’s…interesting.”

  “I thought so.”

  Rudy was ever so agreeable. She knew of no other man who would accompany her on a cold winter night just so she could talk to a man she wasn’t supposed to have any contact with. Still, she wished Rudy would stop using a cattle prod to herd her along. She would get there, but she needed to do it in her own time.

  “But I don’t understand the bishop’s rush to extract an agreement from me. The damage to my standing in this community is done. And he did it. Why do I need to hurry up and agree to the terms of peace?”

  “So healing can begin.”

  She turned. His anger seemed gone again, and she was glad of it. He was weary of the whole ridiculous mess, and his patience was thin, but they both kept trying to be the person the other one needed.

  “Why is the bishop so much more agreeable about me when you talk to him?”

  “He believes you need a good, strong husband to bring things back into place in your life.”

  She began moving cookies from the tray to a cooling rack. A question that had circled in her mind all week returned once again. “If pressure from ministers and husbands was removed, if fear of going to hell was removed, what would life look like for women?”

  “You can’t remove the fear of going to hell, Ariana. Only God can do that.”

  “But if it was removed—just for the sake of conversation—what would any of us do and think? Do we even know?”

  “I’m not sure I’d want to know.”

  “Why? We all have traits that are both inspiring and destructive. You think talking honestly would cause us to take a wrong path?”

  “How would the answer to your question help you or change anything that’s going on?” Rudy went to a cabinet, pulled out a glass, and held it up, silently asking if she wanted a drink too. She shook her head, and he went to the fridge. �
��What you have to focus on, Ariana, is not the women. Not answers to questions you shouldn’t ask. Think about the consequences of your response to the ministers. That’s all.”

  Ariana melted into a chair.

  Rudy poured milk into his glass. “And don’t give any more thought to all you learned while away.”

  She rested her cheek against her fist, thinking. While the clock ticked off the minutes, her thoughts tugged in every direction, like a dog walker taking a dozen pups to the park. “I’m just not sure that kind of agreement would be right.”

  Rudy sat adjacent to her. “What’s so wrong with giving in, Ariana? I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. I live without a phone because it’s expected of me since I have no business need for one. Not having contact with Quill and Nicholas without someone else being with you? Those are no-brainers. If I lived in Indiana right now, we’d be cutting ice and storing it, because the Amish in our area don’t believe in using propane to cool a refrigerator. We yield to the authority above us—men and women. I do so because it makes no sense to try to build a life somewhere while fighting the authority on every hand.”

  “Ya, but—”

  “We could say but to a hundred things a day. Submission to our parents and church leaders is the same as submitting to God.”

  Ariana’s heart sank. “Rudy.” She put both hands over his. “Something is off,” she whispered and tapped her chest. “I don’t know what exactly, but—”

  “Rudy?” Betsy’s footfalls were loud as she hurried down the stairs. “You and Sim can’t put off removing the snow from the roof for one more day.”

  His uncle Sim came into the room, a Bible in hand. “What’s going on?”

  “I was resting in our bedroom when I heard a deep moaning, the kind I told you I’ve been hearing for a week, and you said it was just normal sounds for winter. This time I followed the noise, which led me to the attic. The beams are moaning, one appears to have fractured, and the roof is sagging.”

  Sim put the Bible on the kitchen table. “We were planning to get to it on Thursday, but I’ll take a look.” He went toward the stairway.