He could scarcely think of that now….
He shivered from such dreadful thoughts.
“What are you doing back here?” David poked his head into the storeroom.
Daniel jerked. At first irritated by his little brother’s invading his space, he grew grateful for the distraction. His bearded face softened. “Just thinking about having you and Mark clean out the storeroom. It’s for sure a mess.”
“Well, there’s a customer out here.” David scrunched his small nose. “Some English woman. She wants to talk to you about ordering a chest of drawers. She looks rich.”
Nodding, Daniel told David to tell the woman he’d be right out. Happy to have his thoughts chased away, if temporarily, Daniel set the wooden vessel back atop the crate, switched off the light, and went to greet the English customer.
Chapter 8
Aiden drove back to the Schrock’s in his Ford Focus rental, along the same route Joe Karpin had taken, barely noticing the passing farmland or the rush of wind on his face through the half-opened window. His thoughts were still stuck on Daniel and his losses.
Widowed and losing a baby at twenty-five. The picture disturbed him.
Aiden recalled telling Mark, after breakfast, that he’d stop by the furniture shop and let him give his rental car a drive. He detoured left just before the Schrock’s lane and headed back toward town, five miles north. He told himself it was to keep a promise to Mark; in reality, it was all for Daniel. Speaking intimately with him about his personal losses he knew was impossible, yet he simply could not resist seeing him.
He craned his neck to read the different shop signs along Ivy Street, the town’s main business district: “Yoder’s Amish Bakery and Pretzel Shoppe,” “Stoltzfus Woodworking,” “Hostetler’s Candle Company.” At last he saw what he was searching for: “Schrock Furniture.” The sign was written in old-fashioned white script on the green awning of a shop. Underneath in smaller lettering: “Authentic Amish Woodwork.” He parked his rental car in a small lot next to the shop.
Brass chimes on the door handle jingled when Aiden stepped inside. Instantly he was surrounded by the soothing smells of pine and oak, with a spicy hint of cinnamon-apple potpourri. The shop was empty of people except for the Schrock brothers, who he heard in the back. Daniel’s voice traveled to him as he spoke in a flurry of Pennsylvania German. Aiden assumed he was barking orders at the boys.
David strode up to him. By the surprised look on the boy’s face, Aiden suspected he was expecting to greet an English tourist.
“Hi.” He grinned. “I almost didn’t recognize you in your English clothes.”
Aiden glanced down at his Oxford shirt and jeans. “Oh,” he said, flushing. “I forgot I was in them.”
“I didn’t know you were coming by.”
“I kinda promised Mark. I was on my way back from getting my rental car.”
“We’re all in the back. Come on.”
Aiden gazed at some of the woodwork in the good-sized shop as he followed David. Throughout was furniture and objects clearly built with a love for the craft, made of oak and pine, a few of mahogany and maple. Tables, chairs, beds, desks, wine racks, even toys. One piece made him pause: an oak shelf carved from one solid tree trunk. Adorned with faceless Amish dolls and a few other country knick-knacks, the shelf undeniably demonstrated skill and ingenuity.
“It’s Aiden,” David announced as they reached the back.
“Hey,” Mark said, looking up from his desk work.
Aiden gaped at Mark sitting before a large older model computer, and Daniel standing behind him, talking into a cordless phone.
“We’re allowed to use computers and phones for business,” Mark explained, as if he’d read Aiden’s thoughts. “Just not for personal use.”
“Ya,” David said. “We wouldn’t be able to make any money if we didn’t have computers or phones.”
“Even the old-fashioned ministers know that,” Mark said, turning back to the moderate-sized monitor where a spreadsheet of the shop’s monthly wood purchases was displayed.
Daniel glared at them down his nose as he talked on the phone. He turned his back to them as if seeking more privacy, his Pennsylvania German words rolling off his tongue in quick succession. Aiden understood enough to know that Daniel was bargaining down the price of wood from a local Amish distributor. After everything Joe Karpin had told him, he now saw Daniel in a different light. No longer did he fear his chilly demeanor. Compassion filled his throat as he stared at Daniel’s back. He had to swallow his sympathies to keep them from gushing out.
With Daniel’s intimate secrets now scattered all about his feet, Aiden wanted to respect his privacy and avoid the subject of his wife and son, no matter how difficult it was to keep from reaching out to him. He understood how horrible it was for him. His entire demeanor—silent, austere, harsh—was no doubt due to having suffered so many losses. If only Daniel trusted him more, opened up to him, perhaps he could ameliorate some of his pain.
Dissatisfied with the results of his bargaining, Daniel told the distributor he’d call back and he clicked off the phone. Laying it in its cradle on the desk, he glanced at Aiden before nudging Mark out of the chair.
“You have a great shop,” Aiden said to Daniel. “Did you make all of this stuff?”
“Most of it.” Daniel focused on the computer screen and scrolled down the list of purchases with an effortless use of the mouse.
“Ya, but he doesn’t make the quilts or dolls.” David chuckled. “Mom and the girls make those. Some come from other ladies in the community.”
“We sell them on consignment,” Mark said.
“It’s really impressive,” Aiden said. “Especially that shelf up front, the one carved out of a tree trunk.”
“He just finished that up a couple weeks ago.” Mark grinned. “He made it from a tree that got knocked down by a storm. He’s teaching me all he knows. I hope I get half as good.”
“I try to use the gifts da Hah has given me,” Daniel said.
“Hey.” Mark widened his brown eyes. “What kind of rental car you get?”
Aiden chuckled. “Sorry, just a Ford Focus. No shiny black Corvette this time.”
“Ach, well, that’s okay. You still going to let me drive?”
“I’ll tell you what, I’ll help you out at the shop until you close up, and then you can give me a lift back home. Not much going on back at the farm anyway.”
“But we rode our bikes to the shop today, what am I to do with mine?”
“You can shove it in the back, there’s room.” He looked to Daniel. “Is that okay I let him drive?”
“Sure.” Daniel shrugged. “It’s his bike, your car.”
“Great,” Mark said.
“Do you mind if I take a look around the shop a bit?” Aiden asked, still looking to Daniel.
“Sure,” Daniel said, with another unceremonious shrug and downturn of his mouth. As Aiden wandered the shop, he felt the Amish man’s solemn eyes peer holes into his back.
Hoping the computer monitor would conceal him, Daniel eyed Aiden as he pretended to do desk work. His cheeks burned. It bothered him that his little brothers noticed how uncivilly he’d been treating Aiden. Undoubtedly, the sharp Englishman had noticed too.
David and Mark were right to praise Aiden for how he’d saved the family. With everything the family had endured the past few months, another tragedy would have been too great to bear—that’s if any of them had even survived the accident. Aiden’s being there Church Sunday was true Divine providence, even if his presence did force to the forefront of Daniel’s mind all those unattractive thoughts. God must have known what He was doing when He directed Aiden to cross their path. How many other people would have risked their own lives like Aiden had, steering in front of a drunk driver to save a family of strangers?
He’d been so considerate the past few days, always thanking everyone for their hospitality and asking how to be more helpful. How had Daniel respond
ed? With sneers and grunts. He didn’t mind that Aiden was staying in his bedroom. Only a child would gripe about that. On some level he liked giving up his room for him. He shuddered, remembering how he had treated him during the trip to the horse auction.
Daniel, realizing why Aiden had assumed he was friends with Bobby Jonesboro, winced. He must have mistaken Daniel’s harsh behavior as blaming him for Bobby’s death. The poor Englisher probably thought he’d done something awful, when he had committed a wonderful and unselfish act.
Daniel’s behavior from their first meeting had been nothing less than coarse and disrespectful. His eyes burned as he retraced in his mind just how horrible he had been to him. One thing was clear. The more he realized how much Aiden attracted him, the more he mistreated him.
He knew that Aiden would be returning to Chicago any day. Though the knowledge both bothered and relieved him, there could be no harm in being hospitable during the remainder of his stay. He should at least show him some courtesy for his saving his family from another tragedy.
Time he made up for his surliness.
Aiden was admiring a child’s mahogany rocking horse when he sidled next to him. He was not surprised when Aiden flinched. Other than the drive to the horse auction, they had spent very little time in each other’s company alone. And Daniel hadn’t exactly gone out of his way to show him any hospitality.
“I made that about eight years ago,” he said, hoping to be a bit more cordial.
“It’s beautiful,” Aiden said. “You have a lot of talent.”
“I made it for Leah. But Dad wouldn’t let me give it to her; he was afraid she’d fall off. So I stowed it away. A few months ago I decided to bring it out to the shop and sell it.”
“It really is amazing,” Aiden said. “Look at the detail in the face; his mane looks real.” He touched it as if stroking a real mane.
Daniel noticed the thin gold chain around Aiden’s neck. Jewelry was forbidden in his order, but on Aiden it looked fitting. The sparkling chain seemed to accentuate Aiden’s amber eyes. The clasp had wound its way to the front where the first three buttons of his shirt were undone. Daniel badly wanted to straighten it for him, any reason for a chance to touch his neck.
With his arms stiff by his sides, Daniel led Aiden through the rest of the shop. Silent contentment flowed around him. He elaborated on the pieces Aiden admired most. They stopped before a queen-sized bed he had crafted from oak logs, covered with a multicolored patchwork quilt Grace and Elisabeth had made last spring.
“What a beautiful bed.” Aiden caressed the stained wood of the footboard. “It would go perfect in my dream cabin. If I had money, I’d buy it in a heartbeat. I’d buy everything in here, actually. You really are more than just a woodworker; you’re an artist.”
Daniel felt his face heat above his beard. So not right to feel hochmut. Pride was a sin. But then so were many other things, he mused. He liked being complimented by the Englisher. He liked the sensation a great deal. Standing so close to him, as Aiden stroked him with compliments, he felt his lungs fill as if with oat heads.
“I’m humbled by the talent da Hah has given me,” he said, stifling his erratic breathing as best he could. “I only wish I could put more time into it.”
“Why can’t you?”
“Dad needs help with the farm, at least through the fall harvest.”
“Look on the bright side,” Aiden said, “working around the farm lets you spend more time with your family. That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”
Daniel tugged on his beard. He had never thought of it that way. He did love his family. As undemonstrative as they sometimes could be, they were there for him when it counted. After the tornado, he’d chosen to live with them rather than have the community rebuild his farmhouse. The idea of living alone seemed unbearable. He realized now how he had been hurting himself, hiding away from them… brooding. He’d already lost his wife and son, and was on the verge of losing little Leah; he did not need to lose any more.
The Englisher had a way of seeing things, he was discovering. He liked that.
They smiled at each other, their eyes twinkling under the recessed lighting of the shop. It was the first smile the two had shared. Regrettably, Daniel could not help but scowl and turn away.
Outside on the street, loud hip-hop music blasted from a yellow Mustang convertible stopped alongside an Amish carriage at a red light. For some reason the scene aggravated Aiden. He and David were on their way to the IGA to get pops to go with the ample lunch Rachel had packed her boys—enough that Aiden did not have to go without—and he thought maybe the blaring music might be an affront to the Amish driver and others on the street. The Mustang turned right down a residential street, but the loud hip-hop remained in its intensity, not fading with the Mustang as Aiden had expected. Aiden realized the music had been coming from the Amish carriage all along, driven by a rumspringa youth cruising Ivy Street with his portable boom box. Flushing from his gaffe, Aiden supposed not everything was always as it seemed.
Old-fashioned candy sticks in jars displayed along the IGA’s front counter grabbed Aiden’s attention when he and David walked in. A few candy sticks would make a pleasant goodbye gift for the younger Schrocks, he thought. Poor little Leah, a special and brave girl, would especially appreciate the sweet treats.
He browsed the aisles while David got the drinks, longing to buy something for Daniel too. He chose a baseball magazine that he guessed Daniel might like. A small gesture of friendship couldn’t hurt anyone, he figured. As an afterthought he grabbed up a Corvette magazine for Mark so that he wouldn’t feel left out.
He was amused to find a small group of Amish youths gathered around an arcade game by the refrigerated drink cases. They were a few years before their rumspringa years, but he figured the electronic game, obscured by a tall store shelf, was too tempting for them to pass up. They were cheering and poking fun at each other like any American boys would. His amusement turned to shock when one of the boys called another a “faggot,” and the insult was followed by steady laughter.
Aiden held no mawkish views of the Amish; still, such crude behavior surprised him. He supposed there were differing degrees of good and bad, even among the Amish. Just like Daniel had told him so sharply during their drive to the horse auction yesterday: Amish do lots of things real people do. Including use derogatory language and cruise main streets with blaring boom boxes, he concluded. He was glad that David, who was reaching into the case for bottled pops next to him, seemed oblivious to the foul-mouthed youths.
“Mark likes Mountain Dew and Daniel likes Dad’s Root Beer,” he said, handing Aiden the pops. “I like Orange Nehi. What do you like?”
“Diet Sprite.” Aiden smiled at David. A rush of big brother affection for the eleven-year-old warmed his heart. “You’re a good kid,” he said, patting the top of his straw hat.
“Thanks,” David said, raising an eyebrow as he handed Aiden a bottle of Diet Sprite.
The cashier’s teenaged pimples turned two shades darker red when David introduced Aiden. News of “the Jonesboro incident” had reached throughout Frederick County, she said, with a healthy grin. She acted as if she were meeting a true celebrity. Aiden was embarrassed, but charmed by her kindliness. He was grateful when David tugged on his shirt and insisted they had better head back to the shop.
With his brown bag filled with his purchases in hand, something from across the sun-soaked street caught Aiden’s eye. He stopped in his tracks and stared. Puzzlement marked David’s tanned face.
“What’s wrong?” the boy asked, squinting into the sun.
Still peering across the street, Aiden handed David his bag with the candy sticks, magazines, and his pop, along with the two pretty pen sets he’d bought on impulse by the checkout station for Elisabeth and Grace. “Here, take this for me. I’ll be along in a minute.”
“Where you going?”
“Don’t worry, I won’t be long.”
Leaving behind a perp
lexed David, Aiden crossed the street and bee-lined for what had captured his attention. He stood before the town’s sole newspaper office, The Henry Blade, and tilted his head in contemplation. A small sign hanging in the window read: “Reporter Wanted.” Tentatively, he walked inside.
Forty-five minutes later, Aiden stepped outside the Blade office, happy to watch his new boss, Kevin Hassler, strip the “Reporter Wanted” sign from the window. Unable to curb his enthusiasm, he picked up his pace and jogged to the Schrock’s shop. He barely noticed the increased number of midweek tourists strolling the sidewalks, licking ice cream cones or window shopping, as he sidestepped them.
Mark was back at the computer desk when Aiden bounced into the shop. The brass chimes clanked from his swinging open the door with so much enthusiasm. Mark looked up from the monitor and ogled him. David, sucking on a candy stick that smelled like sour apples, also eyed him, his forehead full of inquisitive wrinkles.
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