The Amish Seamstress

by Mindy Starns Clark

  I nodded in agreement. I knew Frannie hadn’t seen Zed since August and Ella in nearly a year.

  Finally, Zed got up to join us, wiping his mouth with a napkin as he stepped to the other side of his grandmother’s bed. He stroked her hand, and then his eyes fell on her peaceful face.

  Suddenly feeling that I was intruding on a family moment, I slipped away, back to the table and my supper. By the time Marta, Zed, and Ella also returned to the kitchen, both Klara and I had finished our food. Klara said she needed to rest her back some more, so she excused herself, grabbed an ice pack from the freezer, and headed upstairs. I knew her back really did hurt, but I suspected that her primary motive in that moment was simply to be out of there by the time Giselle returned. From what I had seen, the two women simply avoided each other as much as possible.

  Once everyone was done, I cleared the table and then started on the dishes as the others drifted back into the living room and over to the hospital bed. Zed was still acting so strange—almost cold—toward me, and my mind raced to figure out why as I scrubbed each plate clean.

  I was on the last one when the back door opened and Giselle stepped inside.

  “They’re here?” she asked me, but before I could reply, Marta was on her feet, calling out to her sister.

  “Giselle, the kids have arrived!” Her voice sounded so enthusiastic, and I realized I had never seen her as animated as she’d been this evening.

  “Come on,” I heard Marta say to her kids. “Come meet your Aunt Giselle.”

  Giselle crossed to the living room, where they all met on the other side of the couch. Drying my hands, I couldn’t help but stand there and watch.

  Ella hugged Giselle first, saying, “We’ve looked forward to this for so long.”

  Giselle, I was pleased to see, patted her niece’s back warmly before releasing her.

  Zed extended his hand next, which Giselle took, but then she jerked his arm forward, to bring him in for a quick hug. They both laughed.

  When they pulled apart, she told him, “I’ve been so excited to meet you in person, Zed. I feel as though I know you from all the emails we’ve exchanged. It’s as if I’ve watched you grow up.”

  Beaming, he simply said, “I’ve been eager to meet you too.”

  As they were all still standing there, the front door swung open, and Lexie and Ada came inside, each one carrying a pink box.

  With a cry of enthusiasm, they greeted Zed and Ella as well.

  “I had a feeling that heap of rusted metal out there was yours,” Lexie teased as she gave her cousin Zed a hug.

  “Ha-ha,” he replied, but he didn’t seem offended. “At least it gets me where I need to go.”

  “Unless you forget one little thing,” Ella responded, coming over for hugs as well. “Future reference, Zed? It’s spelled G-A-S, and it comes from a hose at those places called ‘gas stations.’”

  As the teasing and laughter continued, I stepped forward to relieve both women of their boxes. I carried them into the kitchen, set them on the counter, and opened them up. Inside one was a lemon pie and in the other, cherry.

  “We bought them,” Ada confessed as she joined me there. “I’ve never bought a pie in my entire life.”

  “Hey, Ella,” Lexie said as she joined us, “too bad they won’t be as good as yours.”

  “You can say that again,” Ella responded, full of sass and with one hand on her hip.

  Soon everyone was back in the kitchen, laughing and talking and eating dessert. Alexander returned from his chores and joined in, assuming his usual place at the head of the table.

  That left Klara as the only one missing from this fun family gathering—besides Frannie, who was still in her bed in the next room, peacefully dozing away. Glancing over at her, I wished she would wake up at least long enough to see her family members gathered together like this. It would make her so happy.

  As we ate, the conversation turned to Switzerland, and Ada began pumping Giselle for information on all the people she had met over there on her trip several years before. Giselle seemed to grow quite chatty as she responded to Ada’s questions. She talked about the current state of Amielbach, which I knew was the beautiful old home and property where Abraham Sommers once lived and worked as an artist and wood-carver. Thanks to Zed’s film, I almost felt as though I had visited there myself. The building had been passed down the family line all the way to Frannie, but according to Zed, she had sold it years ago and then used the proceeds to buy this farm.

  Giselle said the current owners of Amielbach were having a great success in running it as a boutique hotel, and that her artwork sold well in the gift shop. “Daniel and Morgan’s tour business is doing great too.”

  I knew that Daniel and Morgan were friends of Ada’s—and obviously of Giselle’s as well.

  “In fact,” Giselle said, “they’re in California visiting Morgan’s mother, and after Christmas they’ll travel to Indiana. I told them to come here if they have a chance.”

  “Oh, that would be great!” Ada clapped her hands together.

  Giselle leaned back a little. “Don’t get your hopes up too much. I know they’re going home by the end of the month. They have tours booked in early January.”

  “What kind of people go on their tours?” I asked.

  “Church groups, mostly senior citizens, and usually from the US. But they’ve also had college groups and international groups. It’s very profitable. They give history tours, specifically Anabaptist history tours.”

  “Oh!” I gushed, unable to help myself. I was so fascinated by Anabaptist history—indeed, by all history—that such a tour sounded like a dream come true to me. “Do they ever address historical Amish clothing styles?”

  “They do,” Giselle answered. “They had me put together a display about textiles from the seventeen hundreds for their new lighted case near the hotel’s registration desk. It really catches people’s eye and, in fact, has been so popular that now they want me to help them create a line of cloth dolls for the gift shop, ones that show exactly what the early Anabaptists would have worn.”

  “Really?” Zed pushed his empty plate to the center of the table. “You’ve studied early Anabaptist clothing?” He sounded so enthusiastic that for a moment something twisted deep in my gut.

  “Not yet. Well, except for last night, looking through some of the books I’ve sent Mamm over the years. I’m thinking I’ll do the research and create the designs for the dolls myself but hire out the actual handwork.”

  “Good thinking to use your talents where they’re most effective and delegate the rest,” he said. “I learned that lesson from my last Foley artist, who had a real knack for sound.”

  “Exactly. Any talented seamstress can carry out a good design.”

  “And everyone knows you can produce good design,” Zed replied.

  He was practically falling all over himself with Giselle, like a slobbery puppy with its new owner. Surely he wasn’t considering dumping my costume work in favor of having Giselle do it, was he? I couldn’t fathom such a thing.

  Then again, at least that would help explain why he’d been acting so weird toward me tonight. Maybe he had decided he didn’t want me to do the costumes for his film, but he didn’t know how to tell me. If that wasn’t it, I wondered, what else could it be?

  Was he embarrassed about running out of gas?

  Afraid to tell me he and Shelly were dating?

  Worried I might want too much of his time while he was home?

  Or something else?

  Whatever the reason, he didn’t seem to be himself at all—at least not toward me. I couldn’t help but think of what Ella had said, that he had a lot of growing up to do. If so, I decided, maybe he was just pouting—for who knew what reason.

  Taking a deep breath, I told myself to stop speculating and let things take their course. Zed had almost a month before he had to be back at school.

  Surely he would relax and open up to me by then.


  TWENTY-FOUR

  After dinner, Lexie drove Ada home and Giselle headed out to the daadi haus at the same time Alexander went up to bed. Marta, Ella, and Zed moved toward Frannie, which left me alone in the kitchen. I was about to start in on the dishes when I heard Marta direct Zed to help me.

  I glanced over to see her and Ella settling in on each side of Frannie’s bed. Zed stood halfway between them and me, hesitating, looking not unlike a deer in headlights. Then he began to move in my direction, but he wouldn’t meet my gaze, and it was obvious he didn’t want to be anywhere near me.

  Once we were side by side at the sink, me washing and him rinsing, I tried to make quiet conversation.

  “How was your trip?” I asked, my own voice sounding strained to my ears.

  He shrugged, taking a plate from my hand and swishing it in the rinse water. “We hit some snow around the Pennsylvania state line, but the plows had gone through before us, so it wasn’t too bad.”

  He fell silent, so after a moment, I tried again.

  “How were your finals?”

  “Fine.”

  I took a deep breath. I could barely stand small talk with anyone, but especially not with Zed Bayer, so I stopped trying and we finished the dishes in silence.

  After we were done, however, I told him I had something to show him. “I’ll be right back.” I went out into the cold to the daadi haus, grabbed the flashlight, and headed down to my room, retrieving the pamphlets that had belonged to Malachi. I also grabbed the list of phone numbers for places that might have a copy of Abigail’s chapbook in their collection. Now that Zed was on break and had a little time, I had a feeling he wouldn’t mind helping out with this part of the search.

  I returned the flashlight to the cupboard in the entryway and hurried back to the main house, directing Zed to sit at the table. I gave him the list first, explaining what I needed. He agreed to make the calls for me and then folded up the paper and tucked it into his pocket.

  Once he was seated, I took the chair across from him and spread the pamphlets out in the space between us.

  “What is this?”

  I beamed. “Frannie suggested I look in her attic, and these were in a box of things that belonged to your grandfather.”

  Zed was thrilled. As he looked everything over, bit by bit, and talked about them, he slowly began to relax. Seeing my chance and unable to stand the suspense any longer, I worked up the nerve to ask if he still wanted me to do the costumes.

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?” he replied, his attention on the papers.

  He seemed sincere, and I was relieved. But if that wasn’t what was bothering him, what was? Clearly, there was still something strange going on between us.

  If only he would open up and tell me what it was.

  The next morning I found Giselle standing at the kitchen window of the daadi haus, a cup of coffee in her hand.

  She startled when I greeted her.

  “Sorry,” I said. “How’d you sleep?”

  “So-so.”

  I reached for a mug and poured my own cup of coffee. She’d brewed it extra strong.

  Still at the window, Giselle seemed melancholy, and I wished there was something I could do to cheer her up.

  That’s when I remembered the fabric I’d found in Frannie’s attic.

  “I have something for you,” I told her as I left my cup on the counter and headed back to my room. “Your mother wanted you to have it. I found it up in her attic a few days ago.”

  I returned with the plastic bag, unzipping it as I walked. When I reached the table, I lifted the two pieces of fabric out.

  “One is a coverlet,” I said. “And the other is a remnant. Velvet.” I placed the fabric on the table.

  Both items seemed to catch her eye right away, as I knew they would.

  “Your mamm and Marta and I were wondering what you could tell us about them from a textile standpoint. And we wanted to know if you think they could be worth anything as antiques. They seem awfully old.”

  Giselle put her cup on the counter and said she’d be right back. She returned after a few minutes, looking frustrated.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I was hoping I might have left a pair of cotton gloves in my purse or in one of the pockets of my suitcase, but I didn’t. I don’t want to handle these without them.”

  “How about rubber gloves? Would that do?”

  She shook her head. “They need to be cotton. Preferably white cotton. And spotlessly clean.”

  I thought for a moment and then suggested she try the cupboard by the door. “You’ll see a basket in there of winter gloves, but I think I noticed at least one pair of glove liners in there too. They might be cotton.”

  “Good idea.” She left for the entryway. After a moment she came back with the ones I’d been talking about.

  “These will work,” she said, sliding the white cotton glove liners over her hands.

  She sat down in a chair and began to examine the coverlet and then the remnant, handling them carefully. As she did, she grew silent, so I remained quiet as well, watching as she took stock of the items inch by inch.

  I was more interested in the coverlet, but she kept going back to the velvet, running one gloved finger across the nap and holding it this way and that in the light.

  “This piece looks so familiar,” she said, her voice trailing off as she continued to gaze at it.

  Intrigued, I asked her what she could tell me about it.

  “Well, it’s made of silk and combines an uncut looped pile and a tufted cut pile. That’s why it’s so luminous.”

  I had no idea what she was talking about, but I still found it fascinating. “How old do you think it is?”

  “Old. Maybe as much as two hundred years. I know this sort of thing was popular in Italy in the late eighteenth century.”

  “What kind of dye is it?”

  “Plant based.”

  “But it’s so vibrant.”

  “They did amazing things back then, considering what they had to work with.” She placed the fabric back in the plastic bag and then took off her gloves. “How would an Amish family end up with such a fancy piece of fabric from so long ago?”

  “We don’t have any idea,” I answered, zipping the bag. “It was in a box of your father’s things.”

  Giselle froze, and for a long moment she just sat there staring down at the bag of fabric, her skin drawn and pale, her eyes a myriad of emotion. I didn’t know what to do, but the look on her face frightened me. Was she okay? Did she need something?

  Finally, I jumped up and got her a glass of water, but when I tried to hand it to her, she suddenly snapped to attention and began waving me off. “Not around the fabric,” she cried, even though both pieces were securely back inside their protective holder.

  Suddenly, she stood and grabbed the plastic bag with both hands. “I don’t know what makes me angrier,” she hissed, clutching the bag to her chest. I thought she was mad at me until she added, “The fact that he took it away, or the fact that he lied about keeping it.”

  With that, she turned on her heel and marched off to the bedroom, closing the door soundly behind her.

  Two hours later, I was still puzzling over what Giselle had said and done in the kitchen of the daadi haus. I had no idea what that entire interaction had been about, but I had to assume it was yet another thread in the complicated tapestry that had been her relationship with her abusive father. I wanted to help but wasn’t sure how I could, except maybe to say a prayer for her—and offer a listening ear if she ever wanted to talk.

  Giselle finally joined me and Frannie in the main house around ten, and she came in acting as if none of it had ever happened. Taking my cue from her, I tried to do the same. Soon, I was busy on the couch with my handwork, and she was settled into place at her mother’s side. As the morning wore on, I noticed that she seemed content just to be with Frannie, chatting whenever the woman was awake and sitting quietly, her mind so
mewhere far away, when she slept.

  Zed popped in just before noon to let us know he would be working at Will’s Christmas tree farm all week. “My hours will fluctuate each day, but I’ll come over whenever I can.”

  I smiled at his words, glad to know, at last, that he actually wanted to spend some time with me, but when I looked at him, I realized he’d been speaking primarily to Giselle.

  He pulled his phone from his pocket and glanced at it. “In fact, I’m working the rest of the day. I need to get going. I was hoping maybe we could go on a research jaunt in the morning.”

  Now he was looking at me, so I said, “We?”

  “Yeah. You and me.”

  That was a relief.

  “Why? What’s up? Did you make those phone calls already?” My pulse surged. “Did you find someone who has a copy of the chapbook?”

  He shook his head. “No. I called all the numbers on your list first thing this morning, but none of them panned out.”

  My heart sank. “So where is it you want to go?”

  “I was thinking Rod’s farm. To look through the trunk. Isn’t that what you’ve been dying to do?”

  I nodded, my excitement growing again.

  “Can I come?” Giselle asked.

  Zed and I both looked over at her.

  “Absolutely,” he said. “If you don’t mind riding in my excuse for a car.”

  She shrugged. “I could use the fresh air,” she said, but I had a feeling what she really needed was a little space and some time away from the intensity of the situation here.

  “Iz?” Zed asked. “Do you think you can get away from here for an hour or two tomorrow?”

  “Sure. As long as Klara can manage things. I’ll ask her.” I didn’t think it would be a problem. Frannie was sleeping so much now that it wouldn’t be as if Klara would need to lift her or anything.

  In the afternoon, after I’d managed to feed Frannie some custard, I settled on the couch. Giselle had gone, yawning, out to the daadi haus, probably to sleep, so I pulled the book that featured her work from my bag.