Practically every time Cord McLean’s lasso fell over the horns tied to the hay bale, it seemed, he asked her out again. Finally Malena lost her patience.
“No, I don’t want to go for ice cream. No, I don’t need anything in town. And if you don’t stop this nonsense, my father will ask you to leave.”
“You could ask me to leave yourself.” He grinned at her from the saddle, and Marigold patiently waited for him to stop talking and coil his rope. “But you won’t. Because you like me.”
“That is becoming less true every day.”
“But it’s still true.”
Good grief. He never let up. She squinted up at him from under the brim of the raggedy barn hat she’d jammed over her Duchly. “Again, Cord. Circle to the right and throw with your near side arm.”
She almost hoped he’d miss, which he did in two out of three tosses. The loop fell neatly over the horns, which meant he’d got two in a row.
“Good,” she said. “Again. Make it three.”
“How about if we—”
“Stop. Or I’ll ask my parents to cancel the fishing frolic Wednesday night.”
This was news to him, because she’d kept it quiet on purpose. “That’s my last day here. You mean I get to frolic with you?”
Oh, if she could only slap Marigold’s flank, make her jump, and unseat him! But that would not only be unwomanly, it would be mean to the poor horse, who was working harder than anybody in this corral.
“A frolic is what we call a work party.”
“Oh.” All the stuffing went out of him. “More work.”
“Yes. It’s what you’re paying for, isn’t it? To know how to handle the work? Anyway, fishing isn’t work so much as having fun catching dinner. Some of the Youngie—I mean, the young folks from church—are coming over. Do you know how to use a fly rod?”
“Are you kidding? I saw A River Runs Through It when I was a kid. I learned during the summer. I have my rod and flies in the truck. I figured if there was anywhere to get them wet again, it would be Montana.”
She did not ask what river was running through where. “This afternoon maybe you can go get a three-day license and brush up. Yoder’s Variety Store carries them.”
“Only if you go with me.”
She glared at him. “Cord. Mountain Home is small. There’s only one variety store. You dropped me there the other day. I’m sure you remember.”
“It’s more fun if you go with me.”
“I’m quilting this afternoon, and I believe Zach has some work for you.”
“You’d rather sew patches than go for a ride with me?” His voice was plaintive, but the spark in his eyes told her he was teasing. Again.
“I’d rather sew patches than do anything.” She reconsidered. “Except obey my parents and worship the Lord.”
“Oh. Well. If you’re going to bring the Lord into it, then I’m beaten before I start.”
That was the great thing about der Herr. He was so much larger than anyone, yet His power was there for the asking to them that loved Him.
In the knowledge of that power, she said, “It’s time for me to help with lunch. You can practice on your own if you like until Zach comes in, or take Marigold to the barn.”
“Since you have better things to do than coach me like you promised, I’ll practice.”
She didn’t dignify with a reply this pathetic attempt to get his way, simply escaped into the house. It was cool and welcoming after the heat and dust of the corral, and with relief, she pulled off her headscarf and straw hat. After washing her face and arms, she put on her Kapp and pinned it securely before she went out to the kitchen.
“He’s improving,” Sara said, slicing fat ripe tomatoes while baby Nathan entertained himself with a teething ring and made approving noises at the preparations for lunch.
“His roping is, anyway. Two in a row is progress. I just wish he’d talk less and concentrate more.”
“I heard.” Sara lifted her chin at the window, which was open to catch the breeze. “I don’t know what he thinks he’s going to gain. It’s not that he’s flirting with you. It’s more like—”
“Boredom,” Malena supplied, measuring flour and shortening for pie crust. “Where are the others?”
“Naomi and Rebecca and Deborah are out on the deck, taking in the washing.”
It was Monday. Wash day in most of the Amish households in the valley.
“How many pies are we making?”
“Four. The venison and gravy are already done and waiting for you.” Sara paused, and returned to the subject. “Maybe it is boredom. But it seems to me it’s more like he has to win. Even if it’s a contest only he’s competing in. Because you sure aren’t.”
“Aren’t what?” Rebecca came in the kitchen door, Deborah on one hip. “I made a big salad already. It’s in the fridge. All we need is pickles and bread sliced. Competing in what?”
“That’s the question,” Malena said. “Who knows? Zach will earn his eternal reward if he gets Cord out of my hair this afternoon.” She tried not to use the rolling pin as though the pastry was Cord’s backside. “There’s a design in my head I have to get down on paper and nothing is going to drag me away from it.”
“Did you tell him about the fishing frolic?” Rebecca asked. “Does he fish?”
“Yes and yes. Though he hasn’t for a long time. And can we not talk about him for five minutes? Dat said last night it was like having a television in the house.”
Sara laughed. “I can vouch for the truth of that. All I can say is, thank goodness for Alden Stolzfus.”
His name brushed across Malena’s skin the way a breeze rippled across a calm lake. “His courting me is supposed to be pretend, but he really is nice. And easy to talk to.”
“Which means mostly he just listens,” Rebecca teased, cuddling Deborah at the table.
“Neh,” she said a little defensively. “I don’t talk all the time. But I’m glad he’s my friend right now.”
“Just a friend?” Sara eyed her. “Or might there be something more?”
Malena had no idea how to answer that. “I’ve only got to know him this past week.”
“Well,” Mamm said as she came through the screen door with a basket full of clean laundry, “with the spectacle he made of himself over your quilt, everyone in the valley knows he’s sweet on you. Or was that pretend, too?”
Rebecca snorted. “If you ask me, eighteen hundred dollars is dead serious.”
Mamm tilted her head in acknowledgement of this truth. “So maybe only one of you is pretending,” she said slowly, watching Malena.
Malena was silent, crimping the edges of the pie crust automatically while her mind whirled. She hadn’t wanted to think about what that crazy bidding contest at the auction really meant. But now it seemed so obvious, the truth as plain as Mamm’s quiet voice. Did she dare think that Alden’s actions were more than just auction fever? Or a competition between him and Cord that got carried away?
Had he wanted that quilt simply because she’d made it? Somehow, that moment at the sink Sunday night seemed to confirm it.
When the venison and potato and onion pies came out of the oven, she didn’t dare come any closer to an answer. But even the possibility of Alden’s going to such lengths for her sake made her feel warm in her heart. So different from the annoyance that Cord’s words got roiling inside. One man gave her peace, the other agitation. If that wasn’t the Lord making the way plain, she didn’t know what was.
Of course, she thought as she climbed the stairs after lunch and found the haven of her combined bedroom and workroom once again, the Lord would never dream of pointing the way to a worldly man. But strangely, none of the Amish men in the valley gave her this sense of peace. Only Alden. Cal Yoder? Not for a minute. Even Dave was too rigid for comfort—which she only knew because of his very brief courtship of Rebecca. There were a few young men in the other church district on the far side of the valley—one of whom she’d dated last year—but again, this sense of peace had been missing when she’d been with him.
She got out her notebook and turned to a fresh spread of pages, seeking the happiness she always found there. Glacier Lily was lost to her forever, and she didn’t have the heart to make another one. But there were other flowers native to their valley, weren’t there? Lupines were a family favorite, with their blues and purples and delicate shades of lavender and pink. Malena’s pencil sketched a grid and a spire of triangles formed. No, that wasn’t it. The lupines themselves needed to be appliqué, like the glacier lilies had been. Lupines grew straight, and grew in communities. They sprang from a riot of leaves. Riot … movement … pinwheels! That was it. Lots and lots of pinwheels in shades of light and dark green, and maybe a touch of yellow.
When she came to herself two hours later, the rough sketch of Montana Lupine was laid out on the pages, clear enough to begin the arithmetic of triangle sizes and squares versus snowballs. It looked alive, with movement and joy as the lupine spires sprang up to create the central point that drew the eye.
It delighted her. And if a sketch in colored pencil could make her happy, then she was on the right track. The really special quilts, like Glacier Lily and Flying Home, had been gifts from Der Herr, who had shared just a tiny spark of His creativity with her. Not that she would ever say that aloud to anyone. But it had always seemed that way, ever since she was small, and she cherished His gift.
Another gift was hers this afternoon—the time to create. No Cord, no chores, no interruptions. Just herself and Gott and beauty, alone together with a job to do.
And when it was complete? She thought of Montana Lupine hanging up for sale in the window of Rose Garden Quilts, and felt a pang of dismay. No. It would be a gift, not sold. She didn’t know who it was for, or what the occasion would be. The wedding quilt she was making for Joshua and Sara was already underway, and it was likely one for her twin and Noah would be right behind it. Rebecca liked lupines, but this didn’t feel like Rebecca. Kate and Adam? No, Malena was already toying with a wreath for them, that combined the flowers of Pennsylvania with those of Montana. And a quilted border of pine trees and pine cones.
Ah well, there was no hurry to find a home for this newly born design.
It would come to her. It always did.
She was gazing into space, lost in the many ways she could calculate the piecing, when someone knocked on the bedroom door. It wouldn’t be Rebecca or Sara, who would never interrupt if she was designing. But Mamm might need her.
“Come in.”
The door swung open to reveal Cord McLean, who hesitated on the threshold.
Oh, for pity’s sake. Was there no escaping this man? How had he got up here?
With one hand, she closed her notebook, and held up the other as he took a step into the room.
“No,” she said. “I’m very sorry, but this is my bedroom as well as my sewing room. It’s not fitting for a man to be in here.”
Taken aback, literally, the boot that had been raised to take a step inside settled on the threshold once more. “I just came to give you a message.”
“It couldn’t wait until dinnertime? I thought you were out with Zach.”
“I was. We got done early. So I went to town and got a fishing license, like you said.”
She gazed at him, wondering why on earth this was important enough to interrupt a person’s work.
“Don’t look so annoyed. I stopped in at the blacksmith shop and Alden said to tell you that the Amish Diamond sold today.”
A twinge of regret that it was irrevocably gone competed with amazement that it had sold so fast. Amazement won. “Who to?”
“A lady from Nevada,” he said. “How much do you get for a quilt when it’s not at an auction?”
With a frown, she turned back to her notebook. “Whatever Rose Stolzfus thinks is fair. Which is between her and me.”
“Oh, come on, Malena. I dropped two grand on your Glacier Lily, in front of the whole town. You’ve got no quilty secrets from me.”
Trust him to rub it in. To embarrass her—make her feel obligated to him. And maybe she did feel a little obligated. It was a lot of money. But that didn’t mean he could use that to manipulate her into sharing anything with him.
“I’ve got no secrets, quilty or otherwise. But my agreement with Rose Stolzfus is business. Did Alden say anything else?”
“Yeah, he sends his undying love and wants to know when you’re going to look at china patterns.”
What on earth? Then she saw that light in his eyes, amusement with just a tiny trickle of malice. “He did not. Don’t tell fibs.”
With a grin, he said, “You know me too well.”
“I can see the rocks at the bottom of a shallow stream, too.”
Wincing—or pretending to—he said, “Direct hit. Who said Amish girls were meek and obedient?”
And now he was trying to make her feel bad about her example? “Submission and obedience is the natural result of respect, Cord.”
His lean cheeks reddened. “Wow. How many more days do I have left to be schooled by you?”
“Only two.”
“Praise God from whom all blessings flow, as we sang last night. Next time your boyfriend asks me to carry a message, I’ll tell him to do it himself.”
“I’d prefer it that way. Thank you.” She gave him her sweetest smile.
He turned on his heel and his heavy footfalls sounded all the way along the upstairs hall and down the stairs.
All right, that hadn’t been very deemiedich of her. He’d been right to call her on her lack of submission. But everything she’d said had been the truth. He just wasn’t in the habit of hearing it.
Her gaze fell on her closet, which held her few dresses and aprons, but was mostly taken up with the deep shelving where she kept the quilts she made. Unlike herself, they were patient, simply waiting for her.
So the Amish Diamond had sold, and sixty percent of its price was hers. She ought to steel herself and choose one or two of these to take into town. They weren’t doing any good sitting there in the dark.
There were six, two full-size and four queen size. Snow Goose, Winter Stars, Christmas Time—she had made these over the last two summers, when it was hot. Somehow the blues, silvers, and bare-tree browns of the first two made her feel cooler as she worked with them. She couldn’t give up Winter Stars or Snow Goose yet. Not if there might be winter weddings on the Circle M.
She set aside Christmas Time for Rose, a happy mix of red, green, and white. It likely wouldn’t sell when people’s children were going back to school, but maybe during Thanksgiving it would.
The remaining three were a Blooming Nine-Patch called Roses she’d made for fun because it was a fast pattern that looked far more complicated than it was, an Irish chain she called Amish Chain because of its traditional colors, and another wreath—Daffodil Spring.
Roses and the Amish Chain joined Christmas Time. If the lady from Nevada had liked the purples, greens, and burgundy shades on black that were the colors of Amish dresses, then someone else might, too. And that was enough bidding farewell for one day. She slid the quilts into dry cleaning bags to protect them and glanced at the clock ticking cheerfully on the window sill.
Only three o’clock. She had time to hitch up Hester and take them into town.
She’d better do it quick, before she changed her mind and put them all back in the closet like Ebenezer Scrooge hoarding his gold.