by Kelly Long
“Because I’m gut at it.”
She gave him an arch look. “I think that’s something that a wife should discover for herself.”
Seth felt an odd thrill go through his chest and he caught his breath. “So you should.” He relaxed back against the rocker and waited.
She laid a hand on his chest and turned toward him, then slowly lowered her lips to his.
He kissed her with all the finesse he could muster, relishing her closeness, her gentleness. Then suddenly she was up and gone from his arms, and his eyes snapped open in dismay.
“What’s wrong?”
She looked down at him with a smile. “I think you’ve had enough practice. I’ve got to check on the stew.”
CHAPTER 42
The day of the mud sale arrived.
“Look at all the buggies and cars,” Grace said as they pulled onto Farmer Esh’s drive. Hundreds of them, Amisch buggies and Englisch cars, all gathered together. So many different types of Amisch vehicles—some with plush carpeting, brass lanterns, and battery testers; some so shiny they looked brand new. It took them a long time to get parked because Seth and Abel kept stopping to inspect the interiors.
When they actually got to the field, it was already muddy with the pounding of many feet. Amisch came from all around to support the volunteer fire department. Many of the Amisch volunteered their time alongside the Englisch—it was one place where the two communities worked together.
Delicious smells mingled in the air, and Alice took Abel’s hand. “What do you say we go get a funnel cake and a snow cone?”
“But it’s hardly ten o’clock in the morning,” Grace said.
Seth laughed. “It’s all right. Go on with Alice, Abel. We’ll walk around a little and meet you later.”
Grace took Seth’s hand. They walked among the crowds, stopping at various vendor booths to look at things. Grace was careful not to pay too much attention to any one item, knowing that Seth would buy it for her if she did. Instead she took pleasure in his company.
But when they came across a booth selling old-fashioned, mother-of-pearl hairbrushes, he wanted to stop. “Whoa, there,” he said. “I think we might find something here for you.”
“Seth,” she whispered, “you know that my hair—”
“Is growing into beguiling ringlets. You need a brush.” He pulled her closer to the table and bargained happily for a brush and comb set that the woman wrapped with extra care.
They stepped away from the booth and he bowed to her, presenting her with the package. “My wife.”
“Danki.”
It was only a brush and comb, but an irrational happiness welled up in her.
She turned to find Abel standing at a display of plastic action figure toys. He looked up, abashed, as they approached.
“Abel,” Grace said softly, “come away. Those are graven images.”
“They’re toys, Grace,” Seth said easily, then quickly added, “Obey your mother, sohn.”
Abel stepped away but didn’t leave. “They scare me.”
Seth dropped down on his haunches next to Abel. “They scare you, sohn? Why?”
“I don’t like their eyes staring at me.”
“Your mamm’s right,” Seth said, “those toys are not the best for you. Come on, let’s move away.”
Abel soon darted ahead, and Grace turned to Seth. “He doesn’t like to look people in the eye. Have you noticed that?”
“I know. It’s almost like it’s too much sensation for him. But he’ll gaze into the horses’ eyes—and Pretty’s.”
“Ah, but they’re no threat,” Grace said.
“It’s part of who he is, though. Maybe we can teach him to be more comfortable with it.”
“Thank you,” Grace said.
“For what?”
She squeezed his hand. “For loving my sohn.”
Luke King told himself that he needed to get his head on straight where Violet Beiler was concerned.
His family spread out around the grounds of the mud sale, and usually he’d have gone to have a gut look at the horses. Instead he found himself combing the crowd for the familiar ivory-skinned face and bright blue eyes.
He found her at a hair ribbon display, pretending nonchalance among the forbidden wares.
“Thinking of a red ribbon?” he whispered in her ear. “Blue would do better.”
She spun and slapped playfully at him, and he laughed out loud. It felt good.
“Somebody important you want me to meet?”
Luke paused in his laughter to turn a wary eye on his bruder James.
“Jah, sure. I’m sure you’ve seen Violet Beiler at Meeting. She’s actually a very distant cousin of ours.”
“Dear cousin, let me say hello properly.” James made an elaborate show of embracing Violet.
Violet didn’t seem to mind James overmuch, but Luke knew he’d take a good ribbing from his brother after the sale. Still, as he gazed at Violet’s beautiful face, he decided that it just might be worth it.
He caught her hand firmly in his and raised an eyebrow at James. “If you’ll excuse us, we’re going to walk about. Together.”
Then, turning his back on the look of astonishment that came over James’s face, he tucked Violet’s hand more firmly into the bend of his arm and strolled away.
The morning passed quickly. Grace and Seth made their way to the auction stand where beautiful quilts were being sold for hundreds of dollars.
“There’s not one up there that can compare with your work,” Seth whispered softly in his wife’s ear.
“What about your quilting work?” she teased.
“Ach, I prefer when we quilt together. Remind me that we should do that again sometime.” He infused his voice with a certain warmth, and she turned to look up at him curiously.
“Why do I think that you’re talking about something other than quilting?”
“What else could I possibly mean?” He leaned down and took a quick nip at her neck.
“Seth!” she hissed. “We’re in public.”
“Sometimes that’s half the fun.” He offered her his arm. “Come on, let’s catch up with the spaghetti dinner. It’s not one of my favorites, but it’ll do.”
“Wait a minute, please. I think I see Kate Zook.”
“Kate Zook? Why do you want to talk to her? She’s a little pit viper.”
“I think I like her.” Grace stood on her tiptoes to see better over the crowd. “Let me go speak to her for a minute, please? I’ll be right back.”
Seth nodded. “All right. I’ll wait here by the hunting knives.”
He watched Grace make her way through the people and decided once more that he would never, ever understand the ways of women.
Kate, how are you?”
Grace steeled herself for the girl’s negative response. In the preparations for the mud sale, she hadn’t found time to follow through on her invitation for Kate to come and quilt.
Kate eyed her with dislike, but there was a flash of curiosity in her green eyes. “Let me give you the typical Amisch answer: I’m fine.”
“I wanted to apologize for not having you over sooner. Today’s Friday. I know it’s short notice, but could you come tomorrow?”
Kate frowned. “What time?”
“Around two? And bring your quilting things.”
The frown deepened. “I’m not really great at quilting.”
“That’s all right. I can teach you.”
“I bet I could teach you a few things too.”
Grace ignored the gibe and smiled graciously. “I’ll look forward to your coming. Bye.”
Not a particularly uplifting conversation, but at least the girl hadn’t said no. And at least Grace was making strides with her own jealousy and insecurity over Seth’s past. She made her way back to Seth, and he took her hand.
“Friendly talk with Kate Zook?” he asked.
“Very.” Grace smiled as Seth shook his head.
Later, in t
he spacious fire hall, they found seats with Jacob and Lilly, who was feeling much better. Sarah and Grant Williams also joined them. Abel stared in fascination at Sarah’s rounded belly.
“Is there a baby in there?” he asked Grace.
“Don’t point, Abel. And yes, a baby.”
“What’s it look like?”
Grace was grateful for the general noise and hubbub of the many people at the long tables that had been set up.
“Abel, maybe we can talk about this later.”
“Does it have clothes on?”
“What?”
“The baby in there. Does it have clothes?”
“No, but—”
Seth had obviously been listening because he leaned over, his eyes twinkling, and looked at Abel.
“Sohn, how many meatballs do you think are in that big pot up there?”
Grace was grateful for the distraction. Abel loved numbers.
“I don’t know,” the boy said. “But I can imagine . . . 232?”
“Maybe. Maybe more.”
Alice appeared and found a seat by Grace. “So what’s the big deal about celery in your culture?”
There was a collective groan from the Amisch sitting at the table.
“What? What did I say?” Alice asked. “It’s stuck in vases all over the place, like flower arrangements.”
Seth raised a hand. “Allow me. All right, Alice, a lesson on celery: it’s a mainstay of the Amisch culture and Amisch wedding ceremonies.”
“It used to be harvested in the fall, around wedding time,” Jacob added. “But now you can get it anytime.”
“It’s either creamed or sweet and sour,” Lilly added politely.
“Celery helps moisten the stuffing,” Grace offered.
“I like it with peanut butter and marshmallow.” Grant grinned.
“Me too!” Abel yelled.
“Land sakes!” Alice laughed. “You ask a body a question—”
The Amisch reply came in unison: “And you get celery!”
CHAPTER 43
Seth was surprised when Grace pulled the buggy up beside him on the dirt road the next morning. Alice was aboard, looking festive in her cherry-laden hat, and Abel gave a bit of a wave from his seat up front.
“Seth, we’re going to Esh’s Dry Goods for some more fabric for the bee quilt. I’ve got to go early because Kate Zook is coming at two and I want to get some baking done, and I—”
He held up a hand. “Okay, go, have a good time. Do you need money?” He started to reach into his pocket.
“No,” Grace said. “Thank you.”
Seth waved them off, then continued his walk down the road. He had stopped at a fence to watch the palomino for a few minutes when he heard the sound of a car engine. He glanced up the dirt road to see a beat-up blue car with a white top come chugging down the dirt lane, stirring up the dust. The car pulled up beside him and a young Englisch man got out. He pulled off his ball cap and Seth suddenly recognized the artist, Gabe Loftus, who had been shunned for his work.
“I’ve come to talk with you about the grace you gave me that day I was leaving.”
“Hey.” Seth smiled, extending his hand. “Gabe, right?”
“Yep.” Gabe shook his hand with a wide smile.
“Well, for being shunned, you sure seem to have adapted quickly to the Englisch ways.” Seth gestured to the car.
Gabe laughed. “I went to Pleasant Valley, and I took your advice. I do my work and people actually seem to like it.”
“Great—that’s so great.”
The two men strolled to the fence, and Gabe lifted his chin at the palomino. “Nice horse.”
“Are you thinking of buying?” Seth asked.
Gabe smiled. “Maybe someday. At the moment, the phrase starving artist still tends to apply. But that’s not why I came here today.”
“No?” Seth asked.
“Nope. I wanted to come by and thank you for your encouragement that day. I was so down and you helped me. You gave me something precious—grace.” Gabe laughed a little. “I know it sounds funny, but when you bought that drawing, you acknowledged part of me, and it was like I came alive inside.”
Seth shrugged. “I’m grateful I could help.”
Gabe stared out at the horse. “You know, I remember when I was about, oh, say ten or twelve, I was sitting in the creek in the sunshine. The creek was real low that summer—no rain. But I was sitting there, and this big buck, a ten pointer, just walked out of the bushes, as majestic and calm as can be, about ten feet in front of me. He walked out, I looked at him, and he looked at me. And then he put his head down and drank. Took his time. That’s grace.”
Seth swallowed hard. “You should draw that.”
“I don’t know if I could, but . . . well, I just wanted to say thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Seth’s voice was serious, intent.
Gabe shook his hand and started back to the car.
“Hey, Gabe?” Seth called.
“Yeah?”
“My wife’s name. It’s Grace.”
Gabe tipped his ball cap. “You’re a blessed man.”
Seth waved as he drove off, but stood there a long time afterward, thinking.
Gabe was right. He was a blessed man.
CHAPTER 44
Miriam Esh’s dry goods store was about a mile from the Wyse farm and it was a quilter’s paradise.
“Abel, before we go in, I want you to remember not to touch the fabrics,” Grace said.
“Ach, Mamm, I’m going to be boooored.”
“Don’t whine, sonny,” Alice said. “I’ll tell you what to do. You count all the blue fabric bolts in the store and give me the actual number, and I’ll pay you a dollar.”
Abel’s eyes lit up. “Really?”
“Yep.”
“Alice,” Grace said softly, “you don’t have to give him money.”
“I know I don’t. I want to. I wanna see how much blue you Amisch really like in your quilts.”
It was cool and somewhat dim inside the store, but the long counter for cutting was cheerfully occupied by Maggie Esh, the sixteen-year-old daughter of Miriam and John Esh. Maggie swung her legs and greeted them with a wide smile.
“Kumme in. Mamm’s over at the house for a minute, so I’m here. Please look around.”
“I have to count the blue bolts for a dollar,” Abel announced.
Maggie grinned. She knew Abel from Meeting and had always been kind to him. “Sure, Abel, but it might take awhile. Kumme behind the counter to start.”
Abel did as he was told, leaving Grace to push Alice farther into the store. Alice seemed entranced. “Goodness mercy! I’ve never seen so many bolts of cloth in all my days, not even at the Walmart back home.”
Grace smiled. “There are other things too.”
In truth, the dry goods store was a veritable emporium of housewares: glasses, bowls, kettles, cast iron frying pans. A long bookshelf ran along one wall. Shelves were stacked with rugs, wooden toys, bedsheets, and premade Amisch clothing.
But Miriam’s prize focus was her fabric: hundreds of bolts of cloth that lined the remaining walls and towered high enough to require a sliding ladder to see some of the stock. In the middle of the floor stood a giant, spinning stand of rainbow-hued threads of all grades, for simple sewing, quilting, and embroidery.
“What are you looking for?” Maggie reached down to scratch her ankle.
“Well . . .” Grace hesitated. She would have preferred Miriam’s expertise; and then, as if reading her thoughts, Miriam Esh sidled her ample frame in through the back door.
“Ach, ladies, welcome. Maggie, run over to the house and stay with your bruders. And mind that the baby doesn’t choke. I gave her a whey biscuit to try. And straighten your kapp, girl. What will the customers think?”
“Aw, Mamm.” The girl rolled her eyes but left to obey her mother.
Then Miriam turned to Grace and Alice.
“Still doing that ne
w honeybee pattern? Variation on the Log Cabin, right? Gut thing the bishop’s real lenient when it comes to design and color. Heard one lady over in Shippensburg had to cover a patch of red she displayed in an Ocean Wave. Did it nice in appliqué too, heard tell. Bishop didn’t approve. Now, I’ve got a gabardine fabric in bright yellow, looks just like a bee’s behind. Third from the bottom on the left lower, I believe . . .”
The plump woman hopped with the lightness of a child onto the sliding ladder and rolled along, talking as she went.
“When does she stop?” Alice whispered.
“She doesn’t, but she’s always right. About the fabrics, anyway,” Grace muttered back.
“Now, how about appliquéing a black sateen for the stripes? Holds up real well over time, and might look prettier than a serge would. You’re Alice Miller, right? Nice cherries on the hat. Heard you were visiting for a spell. Quilt any yourself? Sometimes the Englisch do, but they don’t use the old patterns like we do—except Grace, she’s got colors written in her head. Honeybees. Still, it’ll be real nice for a nice-looking man, and Grace has sure got herself one of those. Real nice, if I dare say so. And, I guess, at my age and after seven children, I can say whatever I want.”
Grace watched while Miriam hopped down from the ladder and sent the silver shears slashing through the fabrics.
“Is there anything you want, Alice?” Grace asked during a brief lull.
“I’m too afraid to buy. She might talk my ear off,” Alice whispered. “But you’re never going to get Abel out of here. Look at the boy.”
Abel stood on tiptoes, only a fraction of his way through blue bolts. Grace wished Alice hadn’t set up the deal with him. He needed to finish what he started or he got very distraught, and he hadn’t had a full meltdown in weeks.
“Abel,” she said gently, “we have to go now. Mama has things to do at home.” For a moment she doubted if he had even heard her as he concentrated. His thin fingers hovered close to but not touching the myriad of blue colors.
She began to walk toward him slowly. Counting soothed him, and not being able to finish made him anxious and upset.
“Nee!” he said, returning to his counting.
“Yes, come on. I’m going to make pink lemonade later. You know you love it.” She touched his arm and he began to wail and jump up and down.