Buried Sins

by Marta Perry

  He thought she’d flare up at hearing her words parroted back at her. She didn’t. She just looked at him, her gaze defiant, and he knew that was exactly why she was so determined to stay.

  ELEVEN

  “That is just right.” Emma Zook smiled at Caro over the quilt that was spread out between them. “You already know how to take the tiny stitches so they will not show.”

  “I’ve never done anything like this before.” She traced the line of stitches she’d used to repair the fraying edge of a triangle. As Emma said, it was nearly invisible.

  Nancy, Emma’s daughter-in-law, came to look over her shoulder at the quilt. “That will fix up nice, it will. It is good to keep such a quilt in the family.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Funny. For years she’d told herself she got by very nicely without family. Her priorities seemed to have gotten turned around in recent months.

  Nancy smoothed a strand of hair back under the white prayer cap that sat on the back of her head. “Sticky buns are almost ready to come out of the oven. We’ll have some with coffee when you finish work.”

  She’d decline on the basis that a sticky bun contained probably her entire daily allotment of calories, but that would no doubt be an offense against hospitality. Nancy fed her family in the way that Amish women had done for generations, and they seemed to thrive on it. Of course, they had no need for organized activities or gym memberships to keep fit. Dealing with the daily needs of the house and farm without electricity or other modern conveniences did the job.

  Emma fingered the binding on the edges of the quilt, frowning a little. “The binding shows wear first. Could be you should just put on a new one.”

  “I’d hate to replace it with modern fabric. From everything I’ve heard, that takes away from the value. Maybe I can repair it.”

  Emma nodded. “It is worth a try. You have the patience to do it right. Like with the jewelry you make.”

  Emma didn’t wear jewelry, of course, but that didn’t seem to keep her from appreciating the workmanship that went into it. The difference was, she supposed, that the Amish made useful things beautiful, while she attempted to make beautiful things that were also, in their own way, useful.

  “You were the one who started me on the way to being a crafter,” she said, putting in a final stitch and knotting it. “You taught me to crochet before I even started school. Remember?”

  Funny how that memory had come back to her—of herself and Rachel sitting at the kitchen table with Emma, the woman’s work-worn hands guiding their small ones as they made an endless chain of crochet loops to be formed into pot holders.

  “Ach, you remember that.” Emma beamed. “You were so tiny, but you caught on fast. Like my own girls.”

  It went without saying that Amish girls knew such useful things, learning them from their mothers almost before they could talk. Had she and Andrea and Rachel learned anything useful from their mother? Offhand, she couldn’t think of anything, unless it was how to evade bill collectors.

  “I remember you always welcomed us into the kitchen, no matter how busy you were. You’d find something for us to do.” Now, looking back, she knew they’d escaped to the kitchen when her mother was in one of her moods or when their parents were quarreling.

  “It made no trouble.” Emma had probably known why they were there, but she’d never said. “I liked having you with me for company.”

  Probably Emma had been lonely, working by herself in the kitchen at the mansion instead of in her own kitchen, surrounded by children, visiting with her mother-in-law while they did the routine chores of taking care of a large family.

  “You told us Bible stories.” Caro smiled. “Sometimes they came out half in German, I think.”

  “My English was not so gut as the children’s. But the stories were the same, whatever the tongue.”

  “Yes.” She supposed they were. “I have a feeling I was a pest, always asking questions. I wanted to know why you wore a cap, I remember.”

  The prayer cap now covered gray hair, instead of blond, but it was identical to the one Emma had worn then.

  “The Bible says that a woman should pray with her head covered, and also that we should pray at all times.”

  “Do you pray at all times?” The words were out before she could think that Emma might not want to answer so private a question.

  But Emma just smiled. “Often enough that I would not want to be taking a cap on and off, for sure. I know the English don’t hold with that rule. The praying is the important part, ja. And I pray for you, little Caro.”

  Her throat tightened. “Thank you. I haven’t…haven’t prayed so much. Not in a long time. God always seems pretty far away to me.”

  Emma took a final stitch and bit off the thread. “If God seems far off, it is because we have moved. Not God.” She stood, apparently feeling that was all she needed to say about it. “Come. We will have coffee with Nancy.”

  Heart still struggling with the concept, Caro followed her to the farmhouse kitchen. Nancy sat at the long wooden table, her workbasket in front of her, but she greeted them with a smile and set it aside to get the coffeepot from the stove. The room was filled with afternoon sunlight and the mouthwatering aroma of the sticky buns that sat cooling on top of the gas range.

  A faceless rag doll lay atop the basket, hair in braids, awaiting its replica of Amish children’s clothing. She picked it up, wanting to think about anything but her relationship with God. “This is lovely, Nancy. Is it for one of your daughters?”

  “Ja.” Nancy’s smile was the thank-you she wouldn’t say in response to a compliment. “I had a bit of time after finishing the baking to work on it.”

  She made sewing the doll sound as relaxing as if she’d taken a nap.

  “Do you ever sell them at the local craft shows? I’d think they’d be very popular.” They were unique in their lack of features, reflecting the Amish adherence to not making any images.

  Nancy shook her head. “We put some out when we have our produce stand in the summer, that’s all.”

  “Would you like to have me take some to the shows on consignment?” She had second thoughts almost immediately. Was she breaking any Amish taboos with the suggestion?

  Nancy glanced at her mother-in-law, and Emma nodded. “That would be a fine thing, I think. We would like that, Caroline.”

  Actually, once they committed to it, both Emma and Nancy showed a lot of enthusiasm for the idea. By the time Caroline was ready to go home, she carried not only her quilt and several Amish cloth dolls but also some carved wooden toys created by the Zook men. And the promise of the loan of a quilt frame so that she could finish her work on the quilt more easily.

  She pulled the car into her parking space behind the barn and began unloading. Something else was sticking with her from that visit. Emma had played a huge role in her young life, and she hadn’t even realized it until this afternoon.

  The memories of that time, which came back more strongly with each day she spent here, proved that. Emma, in her quiet way, had made her feel safe. Secure. Loved. Loved by the Heavenly Father who was such a strong presence in Emma’s life.

  Emma’s words came back to her. If she no longer felt God’s presence, was it God’s fault? Or hers?

  Arms filled with a box containing the dolls and toys, the quilt folded on top, she followed the walk that led around the corner of the barn. It was too much. She wasn’t ready to face any tough spiritual questions right now. All she could do was try to get through things as best she could. She—

  She rounded the corner and nearly walked into the man who stood at her door.

  The bag Caroline was clutching slipped from her grasp, but he caught it before it could hit the ground.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Easy smile; open, boyish face; a disarming twinkle in his eyes. Churchville’s mayor—she’d met him at the last craft fair. For an instant she couldn’t think of his name, and
then it came to her. Keith Morris.

  “No problem. I just didn’t expect anyone to be here. I don’t get many visitors, but that doesn’t mean I should overreact when someone comes to my door.” She fished her key from her bag, hoping she didn’t look as embarrassed as she felt.

  “I’m sure it’s only natural for you to be edgy under the circumstances.” Keith’s mobile face expressed concern.

  Circumstances? For a moment she imagined he knew about Tony, but that was impossible.

  “What circumstances?” She pushed the key in the lock, juggling the packages in her arms.

  “Here, let me help you with those.” He relieved her of her load so quickly she didn’t have time to refuse. “I heard about the vandalism. That’s a terrible thing. That’s really why I’m here.”

  “You know something about it?” She could hardly object when he followed her inside since he was carrying her things. She nodded toward the dining room table, and he set everything down.

  “No.” He looked startled at the suggestion. “No, I don’t. I just wanted to apologize on behalf of the town. As mayor, I’m afraid I feel responsible when a newcomer to our little community gets such an unpleasant welcome.”

  “I could hardly blame the town, could I? But thank you for your concern. I’m sure you have plenty of more important things to do in your position.”

  “Important?” His right eyebrow quirked. “You do realize that the most significant part of the mayor’s role in Churchville is to sign proclamations, declaring that it’s Pennsylvania Apple Week, or American History Month. And did you know that this coming week is Community Festival Week?”

  She had to smile at the self-deprecation in his voice when he talked about his job. “I’m sure it’s more complicated than that.”

  “A little. I oversee town departments, of course, such as the police department. So I feel a little responsible when our police chief lets vandals run around loose.”

  “I hardly think it’s fair to blame Chief Burkhalter for that.” She snapped the words before she could think that it was odd for her to be defending Zach.

  “I’m sure you’re right.” He backed down without, it seemed, a parting glance at what he’d just said. Was telling people what they wanted to hear part of a politician’s job?

  “Yes, well—” She turned away, appalled at herself for springing to Zach’s defense. She didn’t owe him that. “I was lucky I didn’t have anything very significant in the barn. And believe me, it has a nice, sturdy lock on the doors now.”

  “Good, good.” He rested his hand on the back of a chair. “I have to confess that wasn’t the only reason I came to see you.”

  “No?” She raised an eyebrow, wondering if this was the prelude to a pass.

  “I’m interested in the quilt you talked about with my mother. The 1850s one.”

  She blinked. Did he realize it was one of the things he’d carried in? “I’m pretty fond of it myself.”

  “I collect quilts—in a minor way, that is. I wondered if you were interested in selling it.”

  She could only stare at him for a moment. Was this some sort of game he and his mother played to get the price down?

  “According to your mother, my quilt doesn’t have much historical value.” The woman’s quick dismissal of her quilt was still annoying.

  “I’m sorry about that.” Again that boyish smile disarmed. “Mother can be a bit difficult at times. So many people see her as an expert and ask for advice that she just doesn’t want to be bothered with it.”

  “Odd.” In her experience, crafters were the nicest people on earth, always willing to help each other. She must be the exception.

  “In any event, I think that quilt would be a great addition to my collection. What are you asking for it?”

  The usual rule at shows was that everything was for sale if the price was right, but she didn’t feel that way about the quilt. “I’m afraid it’s not for sale.”

  “Oh, come on,” he said. “Name a price.”

  She shook her head. “It’s a piece of family history.”

  “One thousand dollars?”

  She had to keep herself from gaping. “I’m afraid it’s not for sale,” she said again, infusing her words with a note of command.

  He glanced toward the quilt, lying folded on the table. “Is that it?”

  She nodded. Since he’d shown so much interest, she could hardly refuse to show it to him. “Would you like to see?”

  “Of course.”

  He helped her unfold the quilt onto the table. She had to force herself not to say irritably that she’d do it herself. Really, she didn’t understand why she was so possessive about the thing.

  “There you are.”

  He took a step back to survey the quilt. “Very interesting. It’s an unusual combination of patterns for that time period, from what I know.”

  “That’s what I understand, too.” She touched the edging. “Maybe that’s why it interests me. I’m trying to research its history, and my grandmother has begun finding some letters and papers that relate to the time period. Hopefully I’ll find some mention of the quilt.”

  He nodded toward one of the torn triangles. “You know, there are people who specialize in repairing and restoring old quilts. If you’d like, I could give you some names.”

  “No, thanks. I’d prefer to do it myself.” She was sure of that, even if she didn’t quite understand why.

  “But it’s a big job—”

  “I can manage.” Really, what business of his was it if she wanted to do it herself? She’d already told him it wasn’t for sale.

  “Now I’ve annoyed you.” He gave her a rueful smile. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to be helpful.”

  “Well, thank you.” She hoped she didn’t sound too ungracious. “Everyone has been very helpful—I guess I’m not used to that after living in the city for so long. The Zooks are even bringing over a quilting frame to replace the one destroyed by the vandals.”

  “That’s good. And you said you’d put a new lock on the barn door?”

  “My brother-in-law took care of that, but I doubt the vandals would strike twice in the same place.”

  “Still, better safe than sorry.” Keith’s smile was a little warmer than friendly. “I’m glad the incident hasn’t given you a distaste for our little town.”

  “Not at all. I’m happy to be here.” To her surprise, she realized that was true. In spite of the problems that seemed to have followed her, she felt more at home than she had in years.

  “That’s good.” His smile broadened. “I’m glad.”

  She couldn’t help smiling back. Some simple, uncomplicated flirting was a welcome change from dealing with the betrayal hidden behind Tony’s smooth facade.

  Or with Zach’s intensity. A pair of frowning gray eyes appeared in her mind, and she tried, without success, to dismiss them.

  “That is such a clever idea.” Karen Burkhalter leaned across from her booth at the Spring Festival to take a closer look at the children’s activity Caro had set up.

  “Since it’s a community event, I thought it’d be good. I’ve done it at this kind of show before, and most kids like to string beads.” She’d made a trip to the nearest craft store for supplies for the simple craft, and it had been a pleasant distraction from everything else that was going on in her life.

  “You’re really getting into the swing of things here.” Karen’s pert, freckled face lit with a smile. “I’m glad. That means you want to stay.”

  Karen’s insight startled her. Was her attitude that obvious? “I guess I am enjoying it here.” But for how long?

  “They’re opening the doors,” Karen said. “Get ready to be swamped.”

  She didn’t really expect that, but over the next hour it looked as if Karen’s prediction would come true. People flooded through the aisles between the booths, locals and visitors alike. She should have realized that it would be difficult to supervise the children’s activity and de
al with adult customers at the same time.

  She was trying to untangle the mess one overeager ten-year-old had made of her necklace when someone slid around the table and into the booth with her. She looked up to see Andrea.

  “You can use an extra pair of hands.” Andrea shoved a strand of blond hair behind her ear and took the string of beads from her. “I’ll do this. You take care of the customers.”

  “I…thank you. I didn’t expect this.”

  Andrea, who managed to look crisp and businesslike even in jeans and a button-down shirt, deftly untangled the beads. “Rachel would have come, but she was too busy at the inn. Hey, it’ll be fun.”

  It would? She enjoyed it, but it hadn’t occurred to her that Andrea might. There was a lot she didn’t know about her sisters, it seemed. She turned to a woman who wanted to argue her down on the price of the Amish dolls.

  “Well, I don’t know if my grandkids would like them. Don’t you have any with faces?” She picked at the fine hand stitching on the doll’s dress, and Caro had to restrain herself from snatching it away from her.

  “It’s handmade by an Amish woman,” she said firmly. “Amish dolls don’t have faces because the Amish don’t believe in making images of people. If you want a cheap machine-made doll with features, I’m sure you can find that somewhere else.”

  She held her breath. She didn’t usually turn away customers, but she wouldn’t insult Nancy by selling her handmade dolls for less than they were worth.

  “I guess you have a point at that.” The woman looked over the display. “I’ll take four of them.”

  She managed to keep a straight face until the woman had paid and walked away, and then she turned to Andrea, a laugh escaping. “I can’t believe I just did that.”

  “You sounded like my husband. Cal feels the same about his handmade furniture. If you want cheap machine-made, go elsewhere.” Andrea, having a moment’s respite from the demands of the children, leaned against the table. “You know, you really have a feeling for Pennsylvania folk art. Maybe that’s what you’re meant to be doing.”