Sophia looked up at him with her big brown eyes and grinned. “Pa-pa-pa.”
“That’s right, I’m your papa, and I love you very much.” Paul smiled. He knew Sophia was pretty young to be talking yet and figured she was probably just imitating him because he said Papa to her so often. Then, too, from what he’d read in her baby book, some children started saying a few words at an early age.
Paul opened the back door of the van and secured Sophia in her car seat. Then, handing the little girl her favorite stuffed kitten, he went around to the driver’s side. With just a few weeks left until school was out for the summer, Paul was looking forward to the time he’d have off from teaching his second-grade class. He could spend more time with Sophia and more time with his cameras, as well. Perhaps he could combine the two. Maybe when he took Sophia to the park or out for a walk in her stroller, he’d see all kinds of photo opportunities. It would be good not to have to worry about who was watching Sophia during the day when he was teaching, too. It’d be just the two of them spending quality time together.
Paul swallowed around the lump in his throat. If Sophia’s mother were still alive, it would be the three of us enjoying the summer together. Lorinda had been gone six months already. Every day he missed seeing her pretty face and listening to her sweet voice. Yet for Sophia’s sake, he’d made up his mind to make the best of the situation. Thanks to his faith in God and the support of his family and friends, he’d managed to cope fairly well so far, despite his grief over losing his precious wife. The hardest part was leaving Sophia at the day care center every day. This morning when he’d dropped her off, the minute he’d started walking across the parking lot, she’d begun to cry. By the time they’d reached the building, Sophia was crying so hard, the front of Paul’s shirt was wet with her tears, and it was all Paul could do to keep from shedding a few tears of his own. It nearly broke his heart to leave her like that. He wished he could be with her all the time, but that simply wasn’t possible.
Paul looked forward to spending this evening with his sister, Maria, and her family. Maria had invited Paul and Sophia to join them for supper, and he was sure that whatever she fixed would be a lot better than anything he could throw together.
By the time Paul pulled into Maria’s driveway, his stomach had begun to growl. He hadn’t eaten much for lunch today and was more than ready for a substantial meal. If not for Maria’s frequent supper invitations, he would have almost forgotten what a home-cooked meal tasted like.
When he stepped into his sister’s cozy home a few minutes later, he was greeted with a tantalizing aroma coming from the kitchen.
“Umm … Something smells awfully good in here,” he said, placing Sophia in the high chair Maria had bought just for the baby to use whenever they came for a meal.
Maria turned from the stove and smiled, her dark eyes revealing the depth of her love. “We’re having enchiladas tonight. I made them just for you.”
Paul gave her a hug. “I know I’ve said this before, but you’re sure a good cook, Maria. Your enchiladas are the best. All I can say is gracias for inviting Sophia and me here for supper this evening.”
“You’re more than welcome.” Maria patted Sophia’s curly, dark head. “It won’t be long and she’ll be off baby food and enjoying enchiladas, tamales, and some of our other favorite dishes.”
Paul gave a nod. “How well I know that. She’s growing much too fast.”
“That’s what kids do,” Maria’s husband, Hosea, said, as he strode into the kitchen, followed by three young girls. “Just look at our muchachas.” He motioned to Natalie, Rosa, and Lila, ages four, six, and eight. “Seems like just yesterday and we were changin’ their pañal.”
Lila’s face reddened as she dipped her head. “Oh Papa, you shouldn’t be talkin’ about us wearin’ diapers like that, ‘cause we don’t wear ‘em no more.”
“That’s right,” Maria agreed. “And can’t you see you’re embarrassing our girls?”
“Aw, they shouldn’t be embarrassed in front of their uncle Paul,” Hosea said with a chuckle.
Maria handed him a platter full of enchiladas, and he placed it on the table.
“You know, Paul, you’re absolutely right about Maria bein’ a good cook. She’s always liked spendin’ time in the kitchen, so I knew soon after I met her that she’d make a good wife.” Hosea winked at Maria, and she playfully swatted his arm.
“Lorinda enjoyed cooking, too.” Paul’s throat tightened. Watching Hosea and Maria together and thinking how much he missed his wife made him almost break down in tears. Even during a pleasant evening such as this, it was hard not to think about how Lorinda had died after a truck slammed into their car. Paul had only received minor bumps and bruises as a result of the accident, but the passenger’s side of the car had taken the full impact, leaving Lorinda with serious internal injuries. She’d died at the hospital a few hours later, leaving Paul to raise their daughter on his own. Fortunately, the baby hadn’t been with them that night. Maria had been caring for Sophia so Paul and Lorinda could have an evening out by themselves. They’d eaten a wonderful meal at Das Dutchman in Middlebury and had been planning to do a little shopping on their way home to Elkhart. That never happened.
“Paul, did you hear what I said?” Maria gave his arm a gentle tap.
“Huh? What was that?”
“I asked if you’ve talked to any of Lorinda’s family lately.”
“Her mama called the other day to see how I’m doing, and said she’d be sending a package for Sophia soon,” Paul replied. “Ramona sends a toy or some article of clothing to Sophia on a regular basis. I know it’s hard for her and Jacob to be living in California, with us so far away, but they’re good about keeping in touch, same as our folks do.”
“Yes, but Mom and Dad only live in South Bend, so you get to see them more often,” Maria said.
“That’s true.”
“Are Lorinda’s folks still planning a trip here sometime this summer?” Maria asked.
Paul nodded. “As far as I know.”
“That’ll be nice.” Maria smiled. “It’s good for Sophia to know both sets of her grandparents.”
“What about Lorinda’s sister? Have you heard anything from her since the funeral?” Hosea asked.
Paul shook his head. He wished Carmen’s name hadn’t been brought up. “I doubt that I’ll ever hear from her again,” he murmured.
“Well, that’s just ridiculous! That young woman’s confused, and she’s carryin’ a grudge against you for no reason.” Hosea shook his head. “Some people don’t know up from down.”
Paul went to the sink to get a glass of water, hoping to push down the lump that had risen in his throat. “Can we talk about something else—something that won’t ruin my appetite?”
Maria’s eyes brightened as she leaned against the counter and smiled. “I saw an interesting ad in the newspaper the other day.”
“What was it?” Paul asked.
“It was put in by a woman named Emma Yoder. She’s offering to give quilting lessons in her home in Shipshewana.”
“What got you interested in that?” Hosea asked. “Is my pretty little esposa plannin’ to learn how to quilt?”
Maria shook her head, causing her short, dark curls to bounce around her face. “You know your wife doesn’t have time for that. Not with my part-time job at the bank, plus taking care of our girls.” She winked at Paul. “I was thinking you might want to take the class.”
Paul’s eyebrows shot up. “Why would I want to take a quilting class?”
“Well, Lorinda liked to sew, and since she started that pretty pink quilt for Sophia and never got it finished, I thought maybe—”
Paul held up his hand. “It would be nice to have the quilt done, but I sure can’t do it. I can barely sew a button on my shirt, and I’d never be able to make a quilt.”
“But you could learn, and it might even be fun,” Maria said.
“Huh-uh. I don’t think so. Bes
ides, I have enough to do with my teaching job and taking care of Sophia.”
“Say, how about this?” Hosea thumped Paul’s shoulder. “Why don’t you let Maria sign you up for the class? Then when you get there, you can see if the Amish woman, or maybe one of her students, might be willing to finish the quilt Lorinda started.”
Paul rubbed his chin as he mulled the suggestion over a bit. With a slow nod, he said, “I’ll give it some thought, but right now I’m ready to eat.”
Goshen
Star Stephens sat at the kitchen table, staring at the words of a song she’d begun working on earlier this week. Can’t seem to look behind the right door; maybe that’s ‘cause I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for. Can’t seem to shake the hand that I’ve been dealt; a road of bitter regret, headed straight to hell. And it doesn’t really matter to those who really matter….
Star tapped her pen as she thought about her life and how she and Mom had left their home in Minneapolis and moved to Goshen, Indiana, six months ago. Mom needed to take care of Grandma, who’d been having health problems because of emphysema. From what Mom had told Star, Grandma had been a heavy smoker for a good many years. As time went on, Grandma got worse, and two weeks ago she’d passed away, leaving her rambling old house and all her worldly possessions to Star’s mom, her only child. Star had never met her grandfather, whom she’d been told had drowned in a lake when Mom was three years old. Grandma never remarried. She’d raised her only daughter alone and supported them by working at a convalescent center as a nurse’s aide. Star hadn’t met her own father either. All she’d ever had was Mom to rely on, and their relationship had never been all that good. They’d moved around a lot during Star’s childhood, and Mom had held more jobs than Star could count. She’d done everything from waitressing to hotel housekeeping but never kept one job very long or stayed in one place more than a few years. Mom seemed restless and had drifted from one boyfriend to another. She’d also been self-centered and sometimes had lied to Star about little things. Star had learned to deal with Mom’s immaturity, but it irritated her nonetheless.
“What are your plans for today, Beatrice?” Mom asked when she entered the room wearing a faded pink bathrobe and a pair of floppy, lime-green bedroom slippers that were almost threadbare and should have been thrown out months ago.
“My name’s Star, remember?”
Mom blinked her pale blue eyes as she pushed a wayward strand of shoulder-length bleached-blond hair away from her face. “I know you’ve never liked the name Beatrice, but I don’t see why you had to change your name to Star. Couldn’t you just be content with being called Bea for short?”
Star shook her head determinedly. “For cryin’ out loud! I’m twenty years old, and I have the right to do as I want. Besides, I like the name Star, and that’s what I want to be called—even by you.”
Mom scrutinized Star and then slowly shook her head. “You need to get over the idea that you’re going to be a star, because that’s probably never gonna happen.”
Star’s jaw clenched as she ground her teeth together. Mom had never understood her desire to sing or write songs. In fact, she’d actually made fun of some of the lyrics Star had written, saying she should get her head out of the clouds and come down to earth. Well, what did Mom know about all that, anyway? She could barely carry a tune and didn’t care for the kind of music Star liked. Other than appreciating the roof over their heads, the two of them really had very little in common.
Mom stared at Star a little longer. “I wish you hadn’t gotten that stupid star tattooed on your neck. It looks ridiculous.”
“I like it. It’s who I am.”
“And I suppose you like those ugly purple streaks in your hair?”
“Yep.”
“What about that silly nose ring? Doesn’t it bother you?”
“Nope.”
Star could see that Mom was about to say something more, so she grabbed up the notebook and headed for her room, stomping up the stairs and slamming the door. She tossed the song lyrics on the dresser and flopped back onto the bed with a groan. As she lay there, staring blindly at the cracks in the ceiling, she thought of Grandma and all the times Mom had brought her here to visit. She’d say she was leaving Star at Grandma’s for a few weeks because Grandma had asked her to, but Star had a hunch it had been more for Mom’s benefit. She figured Mom had just wanted her out of her hair for a while so she could be with whichever boyfriend she had at the time. A woman as pretty as Mom never had any trouble finding a man, and it was no surprise when she’d married Wes Morgan shortly after Star turned eight. Tall, blond-haired, good-looking Wes had turned on the charm and promised everything but the moon.
Star clutched the edge of her bedspread tightly between her fingers. I hated that man, and I’m glad he’s dead!
Tears stung her eyes as she thought back to the times she’d spent with Grandma, which she now realized had been the happiest days of her life. Oh Grandma, I miss you so much.
Grandma had been pretty ill the last two weeks before her death, and it had grieved Star to watch her suffer. But at least they’d been able to share some special moments, talking about the past and the fun times they’d had. Star had even shared with Grandma her dream of getting some of her songs published, and Grandma had never once put her down. She missed the words of encouragement Grandma had offered, even in her weakened condition. She longed to see Grandma’s cheerful smile and be held in her loving arms.
Three days ago, Star had been looking through Grandma’s room, searching for Grandma’s old photo album. She remembered it being filled with pictures of Mom when she was young and a few older photos of Grandma and Grandpa when they were newly married. There’d also been some pictures of Star from when she’d come to visit. Star had finally found the album in Grandma’s dresser, and when she’d opened the drawer, an envelope had fallen out. Written on the outside in Grandma’s handwriting was Star’s name. Grandma had never hesitated to call her only granddaughter Star, because she knew how much Star disliked her given name.
Inside the envelope, Star had found a note stating that Grandma had paid for a six-week quilting class in Star’s name. It had puzzled Star at first, but then she’d read the rest of Grandma’s note and realized that since Grandma had always enjoyed quilting, she wanted Star to learn how to quilt as well. She’d even said she hoped if Star learned to make a quilt that she would think of her and remember all the happy times they’d had together.
At first Star thought learning to quilt was a dumb idea, but after contemplating it for a while, she’d decided to give it a try. Maybe Mom would appreciate her quilting instead of nagging all the time about Star needing to do something sensible with her life. Not that Mom had ever done anything levelheaded with her own life. It seemed as though Mom was always searching for something she couldn’t find.
As Star shook her negative thoughts aside, a few more song lyrics popped into her head. She leaped off the bed, grabbed her pen and notebook, and took a seat at the desk. I’ll never give up my desire to become a songwriter, she thought. And someday I’ll show Mom that I can be a real star.
CHAPTER 3
Shipshewana
Look over there, Stuart! Do you see that colorful Amish quilt hanging on the line in the yard across the road?” Pam Johnston nudged her husband’s arm.
“Don’t poke me when I’m driving. You might cause an accident,” he grumbled, adjusting his baseball cap.
Pam wished he hadn’t worn that ugly red cap today. It looked ridiculous! Of course Stuart didn’t think so. He wore the dumb thing a good deal of the time. She was surprised he hadn’t tried to wear it to work. Truth was the only time Stuart dressed halfway decent anymore was when he was at work, managing the sporting goods store in Mishawaka.
“I really wanted you to see that quilt,” Pam said, rather than bringing up the subject of Stuart’s baseball cap.
“Yeah, it was nice.”
“How would you know that? You didn’
t even look when I called your attention to the quilt, and now we’ve gone past it.”
Stuart shook his head. “I can’t look at everything and keep my focus on the road ahead. You want us to get in an accident?”
“Of course not, but you could have at least glanced at the quilt. I’ll bet you would have looked if it had been something you’d wanted to see.”
Stuart mumbled something unintelligible in response.
Pam sighed. “I wish I could make an Amish quilt. It would give me a sense of satisfaction to be so creative.”
No comment. Not even a grunt.
She nudged his arm again. “Did you hear what I said, Stuart?”
“I heard, and if you don’t stop poking me, I’m going to zip right out of Shipshewana and head back to Mishawaka.”
“I’m not ready to go home yet. Besides, you said we could stop by Weaver’s furniture store and look for a new coffee table.”
“Yeah, okay, but that’s the last stop I’m going to make. There are other things I’d rather be doing than shopping for furniture.”
“Like what?”
“There’s gonna be a baseball game on TV this evening, and I don’t want to miss it.”
Pam looked at Stuart with disgust. It was always the same old thing with him. “When you’re not working, you’re either hunting, fishing, watching some sports event on TV, or putting your nose in one of those outdoor sportsman’s magazines. You obviously would rather not be with me.”
“That’s not true. I’m here with you right now, aren’t I?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“I’ve spent all morning and part of the afternoon traipsing in and out of every shop in Shipshewana just to make you happy.”
She glared at him. “It’s kind of hard for me to be happy when in almost every store you said you were bored and wished we could go home.”
Stuart tapped the steering wheel with his knuckles. “Never said I was bored. Just said I could think of other things I’d rather be doing.”
“Oh, I’m sure you could.”
The Half-Stitched Amish Quilting Club Page 2