Beneath the Summer Sun

by Kelly Irvin

  “I didn’t, but I do now.” Mary Katherine clapped so hard a customer looked up from a set of wooden blocks. “Rachel has a sick child so she’s not here today. I could use another set of hands.”

  “Celia is keeping an eye on the kinner. The boys are helping Peter combine oats, and the girls are digging up the first of the potatoes for the produce auction. I can stay.”

  Mary Katherine wiped her hands on her apron and moved toward the cash register. “You know how to use this thing?”

  Jennie shook her head. “Never had cause to learn.”

  “A woman who runs a household like yours alone can learn anything.” Mary Katherine proceeded to give her instructions and a demonstration. She was right. It seemed simple enough. “Next customer is yours. I’ll get a card table and some chairs for the demo area. Did you bring your sewing supplies?”

  Jennie wanted to hightail it out the door. Instead, she nodded. “But I don’t have to start—”

  “They’ll love it. I’m telling you, they’re nice folks for the most part. You have nothing to fear but fear itself.”

  That seemed unlikely. Jennie’s palms were sweaty, and if the damp feel of her dress was any indication, so were her armpits. Her throat, on the other hand, was dry.

  Mary Katherine disappeared into the back room, leaving Jennie with a lady who had a long white braid wrapped around her head, a woman in a pink sundress that looked like something a little girl would wear, and a mother pushing a double stroller containing a girl and a boy who were engaged in a push-pull tussle over a doll dressed in a cowgirl outfit.

  Breathe. Breathe.

  “How much is this?”

  The woman who wore the pink sundress held up a faceless doll.

  “The price should be on it.” The words came out in a stutter. Jennie cleared her throat. “On the tag pinned to the back.”

  “If it had a tag, I wouldn’t be asking.” The customer flopped the doll back and forth in the air. “Nada. Nothing.”

  Nada? Jennie trotted from behind the counter and took the doll. The customer was correct. She picked up an exact replica. “Here it is. Twelve dollars.”

  “Good heavens. For a homemade doll with no face? That’s crazy.” Frowning, the woman deposited the doll back on the shelf. She huffed and moved on to a collection of carved wooden animals. Leo’s work. Leo who had looked so disappointed at church on Sunday. The customer studied an owl, then placed it back in the basket. “They’re toys, after all.”

  “Handmade toys. Handcrafted.” Leo took time from his furniture business to make these carved animals. They were beautiful. A person wouldn’t find anything as well done anywhere. Jennie swallowed the rest of her retort. If she’d learned anything from listening to Mary Katherine, it was that a person earned more sales with honey than vinegar. “A lot of work goes into each piece. The craftsman picks out the wood. He carves out the animal, he sands and smooths the wood, and then he stains it and varnishes it. It’s careful work and each piece is unique. It’s not like buying a toy at a discount department store.”

  “I’m looking for something different for my nephew. He has enough DVDs and toys that make noise.” The woman picked up the horse. It was a stallion with one foreleg stretched above the other in a fierce pose. She cocked her head. “He might like this. He likes horses. My sister can’t afford a real one.”

  “Nine dollars.”

  “I’ll take it.”

  Relief billowed through Jennie. Her first sale. “Anything else?”

  “That’s it. Everything else is too rich for my taste.”

  “If you’ll come over to the counter, I’ll ring you up.”

  She turned to see Leo coming through the door.

  She’d conquered her fear of talking to customers. Now she would have to conquer her other fear.

  Leo.

  Eating a big breakfast had been a bad idea. Leo shifted his box under his left arm and gritted his teeth against the heaving mess where his stomach should be. He’d hoped he would be there before Jennie. Matthew said she was planning to work today. Leo wanted to talk to Mary Katherine first. To tell her he wanted his share of the proceeds to go to buying a buggy for Jennie. He could sell enough furniture to English folks to recoup the cost if Mary Katherine would loan him the money up front. It didn’t matter that she had chosen the lake and Nathan over him. Leo still had to help her.

  Jennie was here. Now. Another opportunity from God? His chance to have what he’d been missing all these years? For now, he would tell Jennie about Matthew, who was back at the shop sanding at this very moment. She looked good. The pink in her cheeks no doubt was caused by nerves, but it added to her appeal. He wasn’t a teenager, still he couldn’t help his response to her. They had something to offer each other. Hope, comfort, the end to loneliness, but so much more. Mind, heart, and body. Heat barreled through him at that last thought. He stomped across the store toward her.

  “You’re here.” She fumbled with a bag for a customer’s purchase—one of Leo’s carved animals. “Mary Kay didn’t mention you were coming in. She’ll be happy to see you.”

  And you? Thankful he hadn’t voiced the question aloud, he settled his box on the counter. “I’ll get tables and chairs from the storage area so we can set up.”

  “Mary Kay is back there. She said she would bring them out.”

  “I’ll help her. It’s a mess in the storage room. She’ll have trouble getting them out of there.”

  Helping Mary Katherine would keep him from dealing with customers for a little longer. No matter how many days he worked in the store, he still didn’t feel at home talking to people.

  Jennie counted out change to the customer and closed the cash register drawer with a bang. “I think she’s counting on us to do demos today.”

  He’d already done demos a few times and it helped pass the time. Working calmed him, even with people watching his every move. “It sounds like you plan to spend some time here.”

  “I told Mary Kay I would.” She handed the bag to the customer and thanked her for her business. “If you help her with the tables, I’ll deal with these customers.”

  “Right.” He paused. He couldn’t wait any longer to tell her. “Guess who showed up at my place.”

  Her face broke into a smile. “Matthew?”

  “Jah.”

  “That is gut news.”

  “I put him right to work.”

  “Did he say much?”

  “Nee. But neither do I.”

  She lifted a box from the floor, set it on the counter, and rummaged through it, producing a half-finished dresser scarf and a handful of brightly colored skeins of thread. “Did he seem like he had an interest in carpentry?”

  Before he could respond, the door opened and the bell tinkled. Neil Reilly, the postal carrier, ambled into the store, a grin on his ruddy face. “Hey folks, got a registered letter here!” He held up the slim, white envelope. “Mary Kay needs to sign for it.”

  He didn’t want his conversation with Jennie to end, but Leo had no choice. He strode to the back room and called Mary Katherine to join them. A few minutes later, she used a letter opener to slit the envelope and read the letter it held. Leo carried out folding tables and chairs in the meantime and Jennie began pricing her items.

  “Well.”

  The single syllable told him little, but Mary Katherine’s expression spoke volumes. Disappointment. Concern. And anger. An emotion he had never seen on the woman’s face in all the time he’d known her. “Bad news, then?”

  She whipped the paper back and forth, using it to fan her face. “Not for Lazarus Dudley.”

  Jennie gave up on her task and crowded to her friend. “What does Lazarus want now?”

  “Apparently, he finally tracked down Seamus. Seamus is exercising the thirty-day clause in our contract.” She snapped the letter with her fingers. “The one that says either party can decide to end the lease with thirty days’ notice.”

  “Why would you agree to that w
ith what was needed to turn this from a butcher store into a tourist shop?” Leo didn’t consider himself a businessman. He was a carpenter. One who barely made a living. Who was he to question? “It just seems shortsighted is all.”

  “He insisted and we didn’t know if we would be successful. We didn’t want to lock into a year lease and then find we couldn’t stay afloat.” Mary Katherine sighed. “We lacked faith. We were shortsighted. All of the above.”

  “Why would Seamus do this?” Jennie put an arm around her friend. “He wanted out of the business. Is retirement not working out for him?”

  “Nee, it’s working out well, it seems. He’s selling the whole building to Lazarus. Instead of leasing the space. He’s getting out of the rental business.”

  Jennie plopped into a chair. Mary Katherine did the same.

  “How long do we have?” Leo picked up a piece of wood from his table and let his fingers rub the rough edges. Jennie needed this. He wanted to replace that buggy for her. He needed this. “Is there anything we can do to stop it?”

  “I’ll talk to Freeman about consulting a lawyer.” Mary Katherine fanned herself with the letter. “He and the others will want to decide the best course of action. They may feel it’s best to let the store go rather than getting into legal wrangling with Englischers.”

  “Could we match Lazarus’s offer for the building?” Jennie’s expression as she asked the question said she already knew the answer. “I know. We can barely afford the lease payments. If only we had more time to build up the business.”

  “When one door closes, another opens.” Mary Katherine dropped the letter. “In the meantime, we still have customers.”

  She bustled over to the quilt section and asked an elderly shopper carrying a huge bag if she’d like to stow it behind the counter while she shopped.

  Jennie stood and went to the window, her back to them. Leo followed. “Look at it this way, at least we won’t have to make change and answer questions about our clothes.”

  She nodded, but her eyes were wet. She sniffed. “We can’t just give up.”

  “Mary Kay’s right. We have to talk to Freeman and the others.”

  Knowing Freeman’s aversion to wrangling with outsiders, Leo could guess the outcome of that conversation.

  A customer barged through the door with a bang. “Quilts? You have quilts?”

  Not for long. Soon they would be replaced with a barista and her choice of cappuccino or espresso.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Best-laid plans. Leo chewed on the problem as he drove into Jamesport with Matthew to deliver Todd’s rocking chair. He wanted to get the chair done and delivered so he could get to the store. They only had a few weeks left before it reverted to Seamus and Lazarus got his hands on it. In the meantime Leo would come up with another plan to buy Jennie’s buggy.

  Matthew had been mostly silent on the trip, as he was at the shop. Silent, but not sullen. It worked for Leo. He needed the time to plan. His apprentice worked hard and didn’t complain. Whatever burr he had under his saddle had been absent in the days since he’d started coming to Leo’s shop. The opportunity to find out what that burr was had not presented itself, which was fine with Leo too. Talking about feelings wasn’t high on his list, either.

  The delivery was a surprise. It might have been easier for Todd to pick up the chair in his SUV, but a gift should be delivered. Todd went home every day for lunch. If Leo had timed it right, both Todd and Samantha—whom Todd called Sam—would be there. Without a word Matthew hopped from the wagon and helped Leo lift the double rocker, wrapped in some old blankets to protect it, from the back. He lifted the chair with an ease that made Leo feel old.

  He studied Todd’s house. The chair suited it, with its white wood frame, green shutters, and graceful wraparound porch. Baskets of potted begonias hung all along the front, splashes of pink, purple, and red against the white. Sunflowers spread in haphazard abundance in flowerbeds that hugged the foundation, like a welcoming committee that leaned toward its visitors.

  “They’ll like it.”

  Matthew’s words surprised Leo. Had he read something in his boss’s face? “I hope they do.”

  “What’s not to like?”

  The boy was observant. He saw Leo’s hesitation and his desire for affirmation that he did good work. He had more depth than Leo would’ve credited him with. They settled the chair on the porch and Leo knocked.

  A few seconds later, the door swung open and Samantha gazed up at him. Her round face lit up with a smile. “You’re here.” She threw her waist-length blonde hair behind her shoulder and held out her arms as if to give him a hug. He had no idea what to do. She hugged him anyway. “It’s good to see you. You’ve made yourself scarce lately.”

  She let go and offered Matthew the same all-encompassing, I-love-the-world smile. “And who is this?”

  Leo made the introductions. “We brought the chair.”

  She squealed and clapped. “I knew it. When Todd told me, I didn’t think I could wait to see it. I’m so excited. It’s going to be perfect for the nursery. You have to see it.”

  She threw back the door and held it with one hand, arm stretched, to give them room to pass by her in the narrow alcove that led to the living room. Her belly protruded in a too-tight white T-shirt and blue knit shorts that revealed long, slim legs. It was the fashion, it seemed, for English ladies to wear tight clothes when they were expecting. Not like it used to be when they mostly wore tentlike dresses that made a man wonder if they were fat or expecting.

  They hustled the chair into the living room. She followed and then padded around them in flip-flops that smacked against the hardwood floor. “This way, this way. Todd, they’re here. The chair’s here.”

  What would it be like to be married to someone so naively innocent at twenty-five or twenty-six years old? She was a kindergarten teacher, and Leo could imagine her sitting on the floor, legs crisscrossed, looking at picture books with the same sense of wonder and awe as her students.

  Todd clomped into the room, a napkin in one hand and a glass of iced tea in the other. “Do you need help?” He wiped his chin. “You caught me in midbite.”

  “We’ve got it.”

  “Sam’s been chomping at the bit to see it. She wanted to come out to your shop, but I refused to let her spoil the surprise of seeing it for the first time.” He set the glass and napkin on the coffee table. “Come on. Might as well settle it in the spot she’s been saving for it.”

  They wrestled the chair down another hallway and through a narrow doorway. It just fit. Todd and Samantha had decorated the room in a soft shade of evergreen with trim that featured lions, tigers, elephants, and giraffes along the top of the walls. Curtains in a darker evergreen covered two tall windows. A pair of white bassinets sat side by side. Beyond them stood one crib, already complete with matching bedding in the jungle theme. A changing table and long dresser crowded the other wall.

  “When are the babies coming?”

  “In about six weeks.” Todd chuckled. Samantha pretended to pummel his arm. “Sam’s a little anxious as you can see.”

  “We’re having girls. Two girls. We’ve seen them twice in sonograms.” She picked up a frame from the dresser and flashed it at them. It held a gray photo of what looked like blobs to Leo. “See. Aren’t they gorgeous? That’s Jessica and Janine. Or Ashley and Annie. Or—”

  “Suffice it to say, we haven’t come to a meeting of the minds on names yet.” Todd put his arm around his wife and squeezed, his smile as wide as hers. He tugged the frame from her hands and settled it back on the dresser. “We have plenty of time, God willing. They still need to bake a little more.”

  “Yah, we don’t want them coming out before they’re fully baked.”

  Baked? Formed? “Is that a likelihood?”

  “With twins, it happens more than we would like.” The look of sheer, unadorned, naked love on Todd’s face as he hugged his wife to him embarrassed—and shamed—Leo. Had he ever
loved someone that much? Todd touched one of the bassinets with his free hand. “Sam is to stay home and take it easy from now on. Not quite bed rest, but no heavy lifting, no running around, no nothing.”

  Samantha giggled. “And Todd is making sure I follow all the rules. He’s cooking and washing dishes and he even ironed his own church pants the other day.”

  She planted a big, smacking kiss on her husband’s cheek. Todd ducked his head. His big ears, like saucers, turned red. “Hey, Leo and Matthew don’t want to see any PDA.”

  “This isn’t the public, it’s our nursery for our babies.” She said it with such glee. They’d been married three years and they still acted like newlyweds. “Okay, enough stalling. Unveil it.”

  Glad to be done with the subject of kissing, Leo obliged. He slipped the tattered quilt from his creation. Samantha gasped. Her hand went to her mouth and then took Todd’s. The vet shook his head. He touched the back, then the arm. “It’s beautiful. Really beautiful. You’ve outdone yourself.”

  Leo didn’t know about that. It was a piece of furniture after all. But somehow, this piece spoke to him as only a few others did. He’d spent extra time shaping and sculpting the seats for comfort and the arms and back slats. The finish shone in the sun that filtered through the curtains. The walnut grain was warm and homey. He’d spent four days sanding the entire chair, sanding until his arms, shoulders, and back ached. He had thought of nothing else as he worked, only making the wood curve and connect and become something that would be handed down from one generation to the next. It would be there at night when a baby had colic or whooping cough. It would be there through night terrors and the grumpy terrible twos. It would be there for the twins and God willing, the babies who came after them.

  “I’m glad it pleases you.”

  “I have to sit in it.” Samantha let go of Todd’s hand. She slipped into the first seat. “Come on, Todd, try it out.”

  Todd eased in next to her. Samantha’s eyes filled with tears. Todd’s hand went to her burgeoning belly. They leaned close to each other, their expressions filled with such a hope and such a vision that Leo had to look away. His friends shared a private moment in which he had only a passing hand. He and Matthew built the chair, but Todd and Samantha made it part of their home, part of their life, and part of their unborn babies’ lives. He wouldn’t know how to go about such a thing. He made furniture, not family.