“If you’re going to need an extension, now is the time to ask so we can modify the construction schedule. That isn’t something we do in the middle of a project, but it can be done before we send out a crew.”
Beth shook her head. Her ponytail swung so hard it slapped her on the side of the neck. “No. Don’t modify your schedule. I said I’d have it done, and I will.”
The stubborn set to her jaw made Sean want to smile, but he swallowed and managed to maintain a businesslike demeanor. “Thank you for your diligent attitude. That’s exactly what McCauley Church Construction desires.” He paused, hoping his next words would be accepted in the manner intended. “And expects.”
Beth looked at him, her brow puckering momentarily. Then she gave a small nod, biting down on her lower lip. “I understand. Don’t worry.”
Although he hated to admit it, Sean was worried. He knew the demands that would be placed on Beth should she end up being McCauley’s designated designer. He also recognized his own desire to spend time with her, to get to know her as a woman rather than an employee. If she didn’t meet this first deadline, his father wouldn’t trust her with a second, and Sean’s time with her would be over.
Mixed emotions warred inside of him as he said, “I’ll try not to worry, but you try to pick up the pace a bit, huh? We want this to work out—for all of us.”
“Then I’d better get busy.” Turning her back on him, she knelt on the platform and picked up a piece of glass.
He watched for a few moments, intrigued by her focus despite the fact he stood behind her. It didn’t take long for him to feel uncomfortable and neglected. He cleared his throat.
She looked over her shoulder, her ponytail cupping her cheek. “I’m sorry. Did you need something else?”
“Um, I guess not.” He released one brief huff of laughter, then lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “And I am expected in Carlton in...” He glanced at this wristwatch. He had plenty of time, but he realized diverting her attention would only slow her work. “Soon.” Backing toward the door, he held up the camera. “Thank you for the pictures. I’ll be in touch.”
A nod gave her only reply, and he stepped out the door. He knew he should appreciate her focus and dedication to the project. After all, he’d meant to convey the importance of meeting the deadline, and her actions only proved he’d succeeded. Yet a regret he didn’t fully understand hovered over him the remainder of the day.
***
Thursday morning, Andrew’s truck followed Beth into the parking area behind the studio. He swung out of his cab and jogged across the uneven ground to open her door for her.
“Good morning,” she greeted. “Thanks.” They walked side by side to the stoop where she unlocked the back door. “How did your day go in the fields yesterday?” She asked as they stepped into the studio.
Andrew didn’t smile. “It went fine.”
She shot him a curious look. “Wasn’t your father pleased to have you back?”
Andrew chuckled, but it lacked his usual enthusiasm. He tugged at his smooth-shaven cheek with one finger. “Yes, but he’s still grumbling about only having me two days a week.”
Beth leaned against the worktable, crossing her arms. “I’m sorry working here has created so many problems for you.” Henry had informed Beth that Andrew’s father opposed his son dabbling in art. Andrew paid a price to be here, and she knew she didn’t show him enough appreciation for his choice. Somehow she needed to rectify that.
Andrew crossed to the cabinet and removed goggles and gloves. “It isn’t your fault. My dad and me ... we haven’t seen eye to eye on much since I was pretty young. He’s always gotten along better with my brothers.”
Beth considered his words. Oddly, some of Sean’s comments from yesterday replayed through her mind. Both men hinted at difficult relationships with their fathers. Even so, she experienced a stab of envy. At least they each had a relationship with a father—something she’d never known.
She opened her mouth, intending to encourage him to try to work things out, but she realized if Andrew were to satisfy his father, it would mean the end of his working here. Confused over which choice was right, she chose silence.
Pushing off from the worktable, she crossed the floor to retrieve her own gloves. “Well, just wait until this window is finished and the contracts with McCauley come rolling in,” she found herself saying. “Your father will be glad you had a part in that.”
“That’s what I’m counting on.”
His growling tone gave Beth a chill. She shrugged it off and said with a forced nonchalance, “Well, let’s get busy, huh?”
As Beth worked, meticulously fitting the pieces within their lead came framing, her mind tripped over Sean’s visit yesterday and his obvious concerns about her ability to complete the project. She understood; she held the same concerns. Glancing up at the calendar on the wall, she felt her heart skip a beat. Even if she continued working Monday through Saturday, that left only twenty-two days to finish.
She looked back at the wooden platform. Its expanse seemed endless, emphasized by the colorful border of glass held in place with dull, silver horseshoe nails. How will I get this done, Lord? Help me! her heart begged. So many of her prayers recently had centered around this project. Her business. Gaining new contracts.
Fitting another wedge of glass into place, she defended that focus to herself. What else did she have besides her business? She didn’t have a husband. Or children. Or even a church family like the rest of the community. Her studio was her life. God surely understood that and would honor her prayers to build it. After all, hadn’t He given her this ability and paved the way for her to discover it? Surely He would now bless it with the means to keep it going, to build it, to be successful. Why else would He have brought Sean McCauley to her doorstep?
Sean McCauley. A picture of his face appeared in her memory. Not the image from yesterday, with worry creasing his brow, but the first time—the open, eager, interested expression that lit his blue-green eyes and brought a curving smile to his lips beneath the neat mustache.
Although their contact hadn’t been excessive and had been largely limited to e-mails and telephone calls, she felt as though she knew him well. She recognized in him the same drive to succeed that existed in her own heart, and it both impressed and terrified her. What if his drive to succeed ending up forcing her off the road?
She sat up and rubbed her lower back, working loose the kinks that always formed from leaning over the platform. While she worked the tight muscles, her thoughts pressed on, constricting her chest. Would she ever be able to trust a man to have her interests at heart rather than his own?
Behind her, the scraping of the stool’s legs against the concrete floor reminded her of Andrew’s presence. Although he had been faithful in his commitment to helping her, she still couldn’t fully trust that his diligence wasn’t selfishly motivated.
She remembered his shining eyes when he’d explained the compromise he’d worked out with his father. Originally, he had only planned to work at her studio until it was time to cut the winter wheat. That was happening now all around Sommerfeld. But he had gained approval to work in the fields two days a week—Wednesday and Saturday—and continue in the studio the remaining weekdays. She frowned as she recalled his exact words when he had explained the details of his arrangement: “But once you prove this studio can support us full-time, my father is willing to let me pursue art as my job instead of farming. So let’s do it!”
That seemed to prove that his desire to get her business up and going had more to do with his own desires to pursue art than with a genuine interest in seeing her dreams come true. And it also made her wonder if he would try to undermine her in order to become the artist rather than the employee.
Bolting to her feet, she spun to face him. “Andrew.”
He jumped, dislodging the piece of glass he’d been placing. With a grunt, he slid the piece back where it belonged and then looked at her.
“I was counting the days I have left to meet the McCauley deadline.”
Andrew’s gaze drifted briefly to the calendar. He turned back to her and nodded.
“I’m not sure I can do it, even working Saturdays. I’m thinking about working Sundays, too—just the afternoons. I’d still go to the meetinghouse in the morning.” Her mother would have choice words if Beth skipped Sunday services, and she also knew she shouldn’t expect God to make time for her if she didn’t carve out time for Him. “What do you think?”
“You would dishonor God’s third commandment?”
Beth blinked twice. He both looked and sounded flabbergasted. “What do you mean?”
“We are commanded to keep the Sabbath day holy. That means following God’s example to rest.”
Suddenly Beth understood. He referred to one of the Ten Commandments Moses brought to the people—she had read about it in one of the earliest Old Testament books, although she couldn’t remember if it was Genesis or Exodus. “So the people of Sommerfeld wouldn’t take kindly to my working then, huh?”
Andrew shook his head, sadness in his eyes. “Beth, when I say we, I don’t mean Mennonites only. I mean Christians. That includes you. Your God takes seriously His teachings. Rest is important. You wear down and get sick if you never rest. God knows this. That’s why He gave us the instruction.”
Well, her mind argued, God understands I have a deadline hanging over my head! But she didn’t voice the thought. Andrew’s serious expression held her too-often-flippant tongue. “Okay.” She sighed. “I won’t work on Sundays. I’ll just work a few more hours every other day.”
When Andrew’s brows pinched, she laughed. “I know what you’re thinking. I already look awful.” She tipped her head and smirked. “Yes, I do look in the mirror on occasion.”
His ears turned bright red, and she knew he remembered his uncomplimentary comment from Monday.
“But it won’t be for much longer. Twenty-two more days, excluding Sundays, to be exact. Then, with contract in hand, I will advertise for two or three more employees. I will instruct you and those additional employees to put together stained-glass windows. And I will be the creative force behind the windows!” She threw her arms outward and exploded in an exaggerated laugh of glee. “And I will have it all!”
If she thought Andrew would join her in laughter, she was mistaken. Instead, when she looked at him, she found him wearing a smug, almost conniving grin that erased the momentary playfulness from her heart.
She recounted Andrew’s response to her attempts at teasing that evening when she stopped by to see her mother and check on the progress of the addition. They stood in the second of the two bedrooms. The unpainted walls and ceiling and uncovered wooden floors gave the impression of standing in a tomb.
“I just wish,” Beth said, her soft voice echoing in the empty space, “I could set aside my worries that Andrew is going to somehow take over or destroy what I’m trying to do.”
Mom’s arm slipped around Beth’s shoulders. “I understand why you’re worried, honey, after what you went through with Mitch. But you have to remember Mitch isn’t a Christian. He doesn’t have the same moral values that Andrew has. Don’t you believe Andrew’s Christianity is important to him?”
Beth remembered his shocked response to her question about working on Sunday. She also recalled his devotion to a father who seemed bent on destroying his dreams. Yes, Andrew’s Christianity was important to him. Still...
“Not only that,” Mom continued, her eyes crinkling, “I happen to have it on good authority that Andrew likes you.”
“And I don’t know if that makes it better or worse!” Beth stepped away from her mother and stormed several feet away. Turning back, she said, “I like Andrew, too. He’s one of my few friends around here. But liking him as more than a friend? I don’t think I could ever do that.”
Mom crossed her arms over her stomach, her fine eyebrows crunching together. “Because?”
Beth sighed. “Because he’s Mennonite. And if I end up liking him as more than a friend, the only way our relationship could work is if he leaves the Mennonite faith or I join it.”
“And you don’t see that happening?”
Beth examined her mother’s face. A hint of pain existed in her eyes, creating an ache in Beth’s heart as she admitted, “I don’t think so. At least not for me. I–I’m sorry if that hurts you.”
Mom moved forward, her steps stiff. “No, Beth, I understand. You weren’t raised in the faith of my family. For me, it was coming home. For you, it’s something completely different. You only see the constraints, and it doesn’t offer a feeling of security for you as much as a feeling of being stifled.”
Beth nodded. Her mother had managed to put into words exactly the way Beth viewed the lifestyle “rules” of the Old Order Mennonite sect’s teaching.
Mom continued. “It’s enough for me to know you’ve accepted Jesus as your Savior. Being a church member won’t secure your place at His side in heaven, but asking Him into your heart did. That’s what is important.”
Beth nearly expelled a breath of relief. But then she shook her head. “Still, it doesn’t solve my issues with Andrew. There just seems to be ... something more ... he wants from me. If it’s a relationship, I can’t give it. And if it’s equal footing in my studio, I won’t give it. But I don’t know how to make that understood.”
Mom’s gaze suddenly jerked somewhere behind Beth. Her face turned white. Puzzled, Beth turned to look. Her heart fell to her stomach. Henry and Andrew stood right outside the door.
SIXTEEN
Uncle Henry moved into the bedroom, but Andrew’s feet remained glued to the floor. Beth’s comments rang in his head. She didn’t want a relationship with him—either working or personal. He couldn’t face her, so he stayed beside the unfinished door frame, staring at the toes of his boots.
“Andrew stopped by to offer his help in mudding, sanding, and painting the new rooms.” Uncle Henry spoke softly, sympathy underscoring his tone.
Andrew held his breath, waiting for Beth’s reply, explanation, or apology, but she said nothing. He jerked his chin up. “I meant to come by earlier this week, but I got busy with a cat.” He realized how stupid his excuse sounded, but he didn’t know what else to say.
Aunt Marie sent a weak smile in his direction. “That’s kind of you. Henry will appreciate the help. Our time is running short, isn’t it?”
Beth’s time on the window was running short. And Andrew’s time to convince her he was needed in all aspects of her life had apparently run out.
“Marie?” The concern in his uncle’s tone caught Andrew’s attention. “Is your stomach bothering you again?”
Andrew peered through the doorway in time to see Uncle Henry take his wife’s chin and tip her face so their eyes could meet.
Aunt Marie laughed softly. “Now, you know an upset stomach isn’t anything to worry about.” The words were meant to appease fear, but even Andrew could see the white lines around Marie’s mouth and the way she held herself in an odd position, as if standing straight was too painful.
“I’m not convinced it’s your stomach.” Henry put his arm around Marie’s waist and guided her from the room.
Andrew stepped back to allow their passage, then followed them to the front room. He stood beside the couch where Marie sat on the edge of the cushion. Beth stood at his elbow, but he was careful not to look at her.
Marie peered up at the trio and shook her head. “It’s nothing. Just a pulled muscle, probably, from carrying this extra weight. At my age, it’s harder than it would have been twenty years ago.”
Henry looked at Beth, his brows low. “She’s been throwing up. Should a woman be throwing up at six months pregnant?”
Andrew flitted a glance at Beth’s face. Her wide blue eyes blinked in confusion.
“I don’t know. I’ve never had a baby. But it does seem odd. I always thought women just got sick in the first trimester.”
/> “That’s what I thought, too.”
Andrew’s ears felt hot, and he wanted to leave the personal conversation, but he didn’t know how to gracefully walk away. So he clasped his hands behind his back and stared at the black ribbons dangling from his aunt’s cap. They emphasized the pale pallor of her skin.
Marie caught Henry’s hand. “Stop talking about me like I’m not here.”
Henry bent down on one knee, still holding his wife’s hand. “Marie, I’m worried.”
Andrew caught Beth’s eye. Despite the hurt she’d caused with her comments a few minutes earlier, he sensed her distress and wanted to help. Like he always wanted to help. She stared at him helplessly, and he reached out to brush her shoulder, just a light graze with his fingertips. A nothing touch. But she offered a small smile of thanks before facing her mother again.
“I’m fine, Henry. Really. Just old and tired.” Marie released a light laugh, convincing Andrew there was no need to fear. “There are two of them in here.” She cupped her stomach with both hands, shaking her head. “They’re probably putting pressure on a nerve or something, which is why I hurt.”
“I don’t know...”
Marie shook her head, her expression tender. “Poor first-time daddy. You’re overprotective, and I love you for it, but you don’t need to fuss so. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
Henry rose, but his frown remained. “First it’s pulled muscles, then pressure on nerves. And I don’t like it.”
Marie stretched her hand up, pressing it to her husband’s chest. “Don’t worry. In another few months they’ll be here, and I’ll be back to normal. Or”—another laugh sounded—“as normal as it can possibly get with two infants vying for my attention. Believe me, you may want to return to these days when my only complaint is a stitch in my side that upsets my stomach.”
Andrew chuckled, and Beth echoed it. He looked at her again, but her gaze was on Marie.
“I’ll come by and help with housework, Mom,” Beth offered.
Marie shook her head. “Oh, no. You have a studio to run, and you need to concentrate on that. I’ll be fine. But if you want to do something to help”—she raised her brows—“you could cut Andrew loose for a day or two so those rooms can be finished on the inside.”
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