Chapter Thirteen
THE PRACTICE SHE’D had in hiding her feelings came in useful when Julia arrived for work Tuesday morning and saw that Luke and Eli had just arrived. She couldn’t beat them inside. Having already noticed her, Eli was opening the back door while Luke removed his gelding’s harness and turned him loose in the small paddock.
She got out of her car and locked it, pride stiffening her spine. No way would she let either man think she’d become too attached to Abby—or Luke.
Casting a casual “Hello” toward Luke, she smiled at Eli. “Gute mariye.” Hoping her grammar was somewhere near correct, she continued in Deitsh, asking how his weekend had been.
Holding the door open for her, he grinned in delight. “Gut. And yours?”
“Quiet but also good.” The big workroom felt shadowy. She lapsed back into English. “I always attend church with Nick, and then cook a big Sunday dinner at his house. I think he lives on microwave meals the rest of the time, or eats out.”
He, too, used English, turning on lights. “I might do the same if cooking at the end of a long day was the only other choice.”
Julia made a face. “I need a wife.”
He laughed, even slapping his thigh. “Ja, ja, I will tell Deborah that.”
Uneasily aware Luke had come in behind her and shut the door, Julia could feel the back of her neck prickling. Not being able to see him, wondering how close he stood, she took a few more steps. She didn’t like having anyone standing behind her, but with him it was worse. He was such a big man.
Refusing to turn, she said, “I need to check messages,” and hustled for the door leading into the showroom and small, open office.
Neither man spoke, but surely she’d fooled them. Eli, for certain. Luke had that way of looking right through her, but how could he from the back?
She was doing fine until she went behind the counter and saw the two quilts heaped beneath it, the imprint of Abby’s small body still visible. Suddenly unable to breathe, she froze.
How could she have forgotten the quilts? If she’d shaken them out right away, taken them home with her, she wouldn’t be devastated now.
Except, of course, she knew better.
The pain slowly subsided, allowing her to pick them up one by one and fold them. She looked around for someplace to set them out of sight, but the space was too small for that. At last, resigned, she piled them to one side of the desk, where she wouldn’t forget them at the end of the day.
Not until midmorning did either man appear, and then it was Luke. Seeing she was with potential customers, he hesitated, but she told them, “Luke Bowman is one of our two furniture makers.”
“‘Son,’ presumably,” the man said, holding out a hand.
They shook, something Luke must have become accustomed to in his years away. “Yes, I have no sons of my own yet.”
“I suppose you’d never teach furniture making to a daughter,” the man remarked. Not quite critically, more thoughtfully, but Luke’s jaw noticeably tightened.
“Not usually, but if I had a daughter who was especially interested, I would. Why not? Young women often hold a job outside the home for a few years or, later, work beside their husbands in a business. My sister Miriam works now at the quilt shop down the street.”
“Oh!” The wife’s face lit. “I think I might sign up for a class there. I’ve always wanted to give quilting a try, and this seems like the time now that Jim has retired and we’ve moved here. We have a daughter living in Tompkin’s Mill,” she added as an aside.
“Julia here is a very fine quilter.” Luke tipped his head at her. “If you have questions, she’d be a good one to ask.” He turned his gaze to the man, asking politely, “What work did you do?”
“Software design.” He chuckled. “Not something you’d be familiar with. You folks don’t use computers at all, do you?”
A flicker of something showed on Luke’s face. “We do in our businesses.” He nodded toward the one behind the counter. “Many of our sales come from our website. But before I was baptized, I spent some years working on algorithms.”
Julia gaped along with both Englischers. As reserved as he was, why had he said that? Had his pride been pricked? But the Amish eschewed pride, in the sense she’d imagined. Anyway, Luke was so confident, he’d never feel the need to put a man in his place.
Had he wanted her to know he had skills beyond the craftsmanship that was acceptable among the Amish?
Luke raised his eyebrows, no doubt at their expressions. “Furniture making involves mathematics, too, you know. Angles, for example. Measurements must be precise—although quilters know that, as well.” He shook himself. “Can I answer any questions about the furniture?”
It turned out they were shopping for a new bedroom set. The wife had already gravitated toward one of Luke’s, made of bird’s-eye maple with a warm stain, inlaid with paler, smooth-grained ash. More than his father, he liked to do inlays, Julia had learned. Now she wondered if it was the mathematician in him, enjoying the precision. Or did contrast please him?
This pair of dressers and headboard and footboard used subtle curves in an unmistakably modern way that would still mix beautifully with antiques.
Luke made his excuses and disappeared in back, leaving her wondering why he’d come out in the first place. To tell her about Abby? Julia didn’t know how that would make her feel.
She concentrated on the customers, who indeed decided to buy the entire bedroom set. Bowman’s delivered free of charge locally. And why not? The total price was huge. While running their credit card, Julia encouraged the wife to visit the quilt shop and sign up for a class.
“That way you’ll get to know other local quilters, too.”
“I’ll do that.” She looked past Julia. “Are those quilts your work? May I see them?”
She couldn’t refuse. “Yes, both are twin-bed-size. I’m afraid I’m overwhelmed with my own quilts. Thank goodness, I’m able to consign some to A Stitch in Time to sell. These . . .” Would Luke accept one from Julia for Abby’s bed, if she offered it?
Probably not—it would only remind his daughter of the Englisch woman who could not be an important part of her life.
The woman, who introduced herself as Evelyn Williams, examined both quilts minutely, savoring the texture much as she had the silky surface of the fine woods. “These are lovely. That’s what I’d like to make—quilts for my grandchildren.”
“That’s a good place to start,” Julia told her. Bed-size might be too ambitious, but not necessarily if she chose a relatively simple pattern.
“Well, I’ll hope to see you at the quilt store.” Evelyn’s gaze became speculative. “You’re not Amish, are you?”
No, but I wish I were. Shocked by the thought, Julia pushed it away. It was ridiculous.
Gathering herself, she said, “No, but both Amish and Englisch—er, everyone else—shop at A Stitch in Time. Quilters understand each other.”
Evelyn was beaming by the time they left. Julia made herself call the local trucking company and arrange the delivery before she opened the door into the workroom.
“They bought the set!” she announced.
Holding a handsaw, Eli looked up. “Set?”
“The inlaid maple bedroom set. I won’t be surprised if they come back for a dining room table and chairs, too.”
Luke watched her with what she’d swear was a faint smile in his eyes. “That was a big sale. You enjoy this, don’t you?”
“Yes!” She hesitated, looking from father to son. “Is there something wrong with that?”
Eli answered. “No. We wouldn’t brag because our sales were better than Yoder’s Heritage Furniture’s, because competition isn’t our way. We send customers to them when we think their furniture might be more what they’re looking for, and they do the same for us. But this is how we support our families, so a big sale is something to celebrate.”
Luke contributed in his deep, calm voice. “Also, we spend so many hours on each piece, knowing it has sold to people who will appreciate it is a good feeling.”
“I understand that.” She felt the same way when she let one of her quilts go. Speaking of . . . “I had an idea.” Her best ideas invariably came when she was trying to outrun depression or panic.
The two men waited, expressions inquiring.
“Well, what if you made a deal with Ruth at the quilt shop? She could have a couple of your quilt racks there, and maybe a rocking chair or two. They’d be great for displaying quilts for sale. Here, we could do the same, showing a few quilts for sale. Customers might be more likely to go back and forth to choose just the right quilt or rack, and you’d both be able to display more of your product than you can now.”
They stared at her. Maybe there was a downside to the idea that she hadn’t thought of, or she was just plain overstepping, considering she was nothing but a receptionist and bookkeeper here.
But Eli began to nod slowly as he turned to his son. “It wonders me why we didn’t think of this. Why I didn’t think of it. You’ve only been working with the furniture for a year.”
“This summer we did something like that during special sales, remember?” To Julia, Luke said, “We’d put smaller pieces out on the sidewalk. All the stores did the same. The police closed the street so people could wander across and back. Anyway, Miriam carried a few quilts to us, and they had already borrowed some of our racks to show the quilts. Inside . . . it would make our display room more colorful, feel like home.”
Julia relaxed. They’d listened to her suggestions before without slapping her down, so she didn’t know why she’d expected any different.
“You’ll talk to Ruth, then?”
“Ja—or why don’t you do that. Daad?”
“Certain sure.” Eli smiled at her. “Ruth will be glad, I think. She’s a good businesswoman.”
Which was apparently fine only because she was a widow, if Julia understood right. But that made sense. Miriam said Ruth had opened the shop after her youngest daughter got married and Ruth’s husband died only six months later.
“We could take a few larger quilts to display on the beds, too,” Julia said.
Luke raised his eyebrows. “Does she have a bed of some kind in the store? What kind of headboard and footboard does it have?”
“It’s an antique, or at least it looks like one. White-painted metal, sort of lacy.”
He shrugged. “Ach, that might be best with the quilts.”
This was one of the times when she could hear the Pennsylvania Dutch accent in his voice. Unhappy to be focused on how much she liked his voice, however he chose to speak, she said hastily, “When I take my lunch break—”
“Why don’t you go now?” Eli said. “Catch Ruth when she’s certain sure to be there, ja? If you leave the door open, Luke or I can help anyone who comes in.”
With a grin, Luke contributed, “Strike while the iron is hot.”
“That’s really a strange saying, you know? I’ve never hit anybody with my iron.”
Luke’s grin deepened the creases in his cheeks. Eli roared with laughter.
Feeling better about herself, glad to have had such a natural discussion with the men, Julia propped open the door as they’d suggested, and hurried out into the heat of the day without even grabbing her purse.
LUKE WAS GLAD for Julia that Ruth immediately liked her idea. Although why wouldn’t she? Ruth and Julia had brought armfuls of quilts back to the furniture store with them, and at their request, he’d made two trips to carry two rocking chairs while they each took a quilt rack the other direction.
At the end of the day, Luke and his father went to see what Julia had done with the quilts. He stopped only a few feet into the room, startled by the change but impressed right away.
“The quilts look at home here,” he said, turning his head to take in the sight of one draped casually over the back of a rocker, another smoothed to cover a bedstead. Quilt racks held several crib- or wall-hanging-size ones.
“Ja, they look fine, ain’t so?” Daad said from just behind him.
Julia smiled at them, although not the smile that lit her entire face and warmed Luke’s heart. “Denke. And I’ll have you know, I’ve already sold a crib quilt. A woman was walking past, stopped dead on the sidewalk to look at it through the window, then hurried in.”
Eli chuckled. “I hope she wasn’t truly dead. Perhaps she would be wrapped in the quilt for the funeral.”
Julia blinked at him. “Why—? Oh. That’s just a saying. I mean, stopping dead.”
Luke’s father patted her arm and said in Deitsh, “Ja, I know. Ach, having fun with you, I am.”
“That’s certain sure,” she shot back, also in his language.
Eli beamed. “My daughter is teaching you, ja?”
“Ja, and I listen.”
More than any of them had realized, Luke couldn’t help thinking. For the first time, he speculated on why she was so determined to learn to speak his native language. Many people in the area knew common phrases, but unless they’d grown up having a close friendship with an Amish boy or girl, not so common, they were hardly fluent. Determined was a good description of Julia, he decided. For whatever reason, she had set the goal of becoming fluent in Deitsh, and was progressing with surprising speed. He wondered if she’d confided her motivation to his sister—and whether Miriam would tell him if he asked.
They locked the door, turned the sign to Closed, and all walked out the back together. Under his father’s eye, Luke pretended to pay no mind to her departure. During the trip, he and Daad did discuss this new change, with Luke pointing out that the quilt shop might benefit financially more than they did, but not disputing that the sale of an occasional extra rocking chair would be worthwhile.
“We may be surprised,” Eli commented. “Having Julia putting so much more on the website has brought more sales, and this will bring different people into our store. Maybe Englisch visitors who wouldn’t have thought of buying furniture while they travel, but who will like what they see and discover that we can ship to their door.”
Luke inclined his head. It was another ten minutes down the road before he said, “We could let Julia sell her quilts in our store, too, if it’s clear that they are not Amish made.”
His daad gave that some thought before nodding. “Ja, I think we could do that. It seems fair, ain’t so?”
Luke didn’t remark further.
He had already decided not to stay at his parents’ house for dinner tonight, but he tied up Charlie so he could go in with his father. In the kitchen, Luke greeted his mamm, then looked around.
“Did Abby have a good day? Where is she?”
He could tell from her expression that good was too positive a word.
“Not afraid today, she wasn’t,” Mamm said, “but quiet. She keeps to herself.” She nodded toward the front of the house. “She’s in the living room.”
Hiding his dismay, he kissed her cheek. “Denke, Mamm.”
A tuneless humming caught his attention as he approached the living room. Was this what the foster mother had described as singing? Thrilled to hear Abby’s voice, he was still disappointed at the lack of words.
He paused in the doorway, watching her.
Abby sat cross-legged on the sofa, feet bare, still wearing the saggy pink leggings and threadbare unicorn shirt she’d chosen that morning, as she did whenever it reappeared in her drawer. She’d permitted him to do two pigtails, lopsided because of his inexperience. Now, wisps of blond hair straggled out of the braids. Luke knew without asking that Mamm would have tried to convince Abby to change into one of the dresses she’d made for this new kinskind, but to no avail.
Abby held two of the faceless cloth dolls the Amish made for their children, one in each hand. If he had to guess, they were dancing. Or maybe two boxers warming up, he thought wryly.
The moment she lifted her head and saw him, she quit humming. She did slide off the sofa and come to him as he crouched to greet her. She held up the dolls.
“Your grossmammi gave you these? Do you like them?”
One wore a lilac dress, the other green. White aprons and white kapps seemed to be sewed on, or Abby would have figured out how to get them off.
Not answering in any recognizable way, she let the dolls drop as if she’d lost interest, and leaned against him. With a tight feeling in his chest, Luke closed his eyes and gave thanks to the Lord for her increasing trust.
Amusement threaded through his other emotions. For a traumatized child, this new daughter of his was amazingly stubborn, willful. The Deitsh word agasinish suited her perfectly.
“I missed you today,” he murmured against the top of her head, only then realizing how true that was. He’d missed being able to wander out front and see what his daughter was up to, her impish smile, and hear Julia’s laughter. He missed eating lunch with them. Much as he loved his father, having lunch in the workshop where his daad might want to talk hadn’t held any appeal, and he couldn’t join Julia. It did occur to him that today he could have used the excuse of talking to her about her clever idea, but an excuse was what it would have been.
No, spending unnecessary time with her wasn’t a good idea. He didn’t need his father to chide him.
And no, there’d been nothing wrong with the food he’d packed from Miriam’s flurry of cooking, but it seemed tasteless eaten while he baked in the sun leaning against the paddock fence out back. Hiding out. Charlie seemed pleased to keep him company and share a few bites, but it wasn’t the same.
Yes, he missed spending time with Julia and Abby.
“Shall we go home, little one?” he asked, and Abby tugged away to search his eyes, although what she looked for he didn’t know. She didn’t protest their departure or seem to notice that her new grandmother was sad. He regretted this child’s resistance to the loving mother who’d raised him, but didn’t know what he could do differently.
And he could see all too clearly that Abby wasn’t ready to welcome a new mamm were he to marry in the near future. Waiting seemed sensible. Luke told himself that, in her own way, Abby would let him know when she was ready.
It wasn’t as if he felt any urgency, given that he had yet to meet a suitable woman he could imagine waking to every morning for the rest of his life.