Ten

“That’s a perfect seam. Are you sure you haven’t sewn anything before?”

Wendy glanced up at Eunice Miller and smiled. “Not a stitch, other than a few half-hearted attempts to reattach a button.”

Eunice sat next to her at the treadle sewing machine. “You’re certainly making my job easier.” She showed Wendy how to turn the material without lifting the needle. “Now sew the other side.”

Wendy set to work as Eunice went back to her worktable where she was putting the finishing touches on a brightly colored Christmas quilt wall hanging for an English customer.

After her initial visit to the fabric shop, Wendy returned two days later and asked where she could take sewing lessons, preferably from the Amish. The proprietor had given her Eunice’s phone number, who was one of her part-time employees. A week later, she was in the woman’s home learning the basics of sewing on a treadle machine. Wendy had brought some black and navy blue plaid flannel and was working on a simple scarf, which was basically cutting the material into a long, thick strip and sewing the sides together.

She’d expected the project to be easy, but she hadn’t anticipated how much she would delight in sitting in a simply decorated living room in front of a large picture window, snow falling softly outside as she let the machine do the work. This was much more fun than listening to the Warrens bicker . . . and bicker and bicker. Their first meeting had once again gone nowhere, and the couple—plus Claude—made yet another appointment with her to discuss the issue again. She knew conflict mediation took more time with some people than others, but she wondered if Harold and Judy would ever find common ground. They seemed to enjoy fighting with each other a little too much.

It didn’t take long for her to finish the second seam, and after Eunice showed her how to shift the needle back and forth to secure the stitches, she declared the lesson complete. “Usually my sewing lessons are longer, but you’ve got the hang of it. I’ll only charge you half price.”

“I don’t mind paying the full amount.” Her gaze gravitated to the quilt. “That’s beautiful. How long did it take you to make it?”

Eunice walked to the table, Wendy following. “About two months. My oldest daughter helped me cut the pieces. She lives next door with her husband and their three children.”

Wendy nodded, inspecting the five red-and-green holly basket motifs on a white background, surrounded by a thin red border and a thicker evergreen one. “Such perfect stitches,” she said, marveling at the meticulous quilting.

“Oh, there are plenty of mistakes.” Eunice pointed to one of the baskets. “Right here is a long stitch. It makes the line look uneven.”

“I can’t tell.” Wendy turned to her. “Can you show me how you made the design?”

“Sure.”

The women sat down at the table, and for the next hour, Wendy not only learned about Amish quilting, but she also used the opportunity to ask Eunice some questions about the Amish faith. “If I’m not being too nosy,” Wendy said.

“Not at all.” Eunice smiled and took off her reading glasses. “What would you like to know?”

By the end of the hour, Wendy had learned more about the Ordnung and the church service—three hours long at a minimum! She was surprised that not all Amish ended up joining the church. Some opted to leave their communities and live in the English world. If they did that before they were baptized, they weren’t shunned.

“And if they leave after their baptism?”

Eunice paused. “When you’re baptized, you make a vow to God in front of your family and friends to always be a member of the church. We’re expected to keep that vow for life. I had a cousin who left after baptism, and we had to shun her.”

She’d heard of shunning before and recalled that her mother years ago had read a novel with the word in the title. But she couldn’t stop her next question. “Isn’t that harsh?”

“Depends on how you look at it.” Eunice pinned two layers of cloth together. “We believe that shunning helps bring people back to their faith.” She frowned, still staring at the cloth. “But it didn’t work for my cousin. There are also communities who don’t shun. It just depends on the district and its Ordnung.”

Wendy let Eunice’s words soak in as they continued to work. While it seemed heartless to ostracize a family member, she didn’t have enough knowledge of the Amish and their practices to make any kind of judgment on what they did among themselves.

Eunice turned to a less controversial topic. “We don’t take pictures or pose for them,” she said. “It’s a sign of humility and we’re following the commandment to not have graven images.”

Wendy was beginning to understand how important humility was to the Amish faith. That made her think about Barnabas, who was extremely humble. She could spot that trait in half a second, having spent her career around people who were extremely prideful. She could even look at herself and see all the times over the years when she was driven more by pride than anything else. That was probably why she’d been so angry about being passed over for partner so many times.

Sitting in Eunice’s living room, sewing and talking about her faith, made Wendy’s life in New York seem so distant, even though it had been less than a year since she’d left the city and her practice. She had so many more questions for her new friend, but she would save that for the next lesson.

“Would you like to join us for church sometime?” Eunice asked as Wendy put on her coat.

She smiled, pleasantly surprised by her offer. “That would be wonderful,” Wendy answered without hesitation.

Eunice handed Wendy the sewing bag she’d brought with her. “We do have a few rules for English visitors. Please wear a dress—dark colors are best if you have them. No high heels, and not too much makeup. Oh, and no jewelry.”

Wendy nodded.

“Service is next Sunday since this is our off week. I usually attend the Birch Creek church during those weeks, and sometimes my sister’s church. They’re nice districts too.”

She knew a little bit about Birch Creek. Charity’s husband, Jesse, was from there, but Wendy had only driven around the community on one of her back-road drives. Like Marigold, it was populated with Amish and English houses, with a gently rolling landscape dotted with gardens and farms.

“Thank you so much, Eunice. I really enjoyed myself today. I’ll bring more fabric next week.”

“I enjoyed meeting you, Wendy. We’ll do a more complicated project during that lesson.”

“Hopefully not too complicated.”

Eunice laughed. “It won’t be.”

Wendy said goodbye and walked outside into the frigid winter air. She got into her mother’s car and turned it on, then grabbed a long-handled window brush and reached out to brush the snow off the car. She glanced at Eunice’s house, noting the missing shutters and white siding that was identical to most of the Amish houses in Marigold.

As she drove home, she thought about everything she’d learned today, aside from sewing. The Amish had a lot of rules, but she could see how those rules kept the community cohesive and thriving. But that wasn’t the main reason for the Ordnung. Everything, including the rules, was centered around God. “We’re not perfect,” Eunice had pointed out. “Not even close. Only one person was perfect on this earth, and that was Jesus. Scripture says to love the Lord God with all our heart, mind, and soul.”

“That’s Matthew, right?”

“Yes. Those are Jesus’ words, and we do our best to live by them.”

Wendy pulled into her driveway and turned off the car. She stared at the steering wheel. She’d grown up in church, but how much of her life had been spent loving God so completely? Very little. The energy and effort she’d put into her faith paled in comparison to her obsession with her job. Another verse came to mind, from Galatians: “For do I now persuade men, or God?”

She knew the answer, and it seared her soul.

*  *  *

Ella leaned against the store counter. Less than five minutes ago, the store was chock-full of customers, typical for the week before Christmas. Daed was in his office ordering more inventory while Ella helped their clientele. The patrons had hit the baking aisle hard, along with the three Christmas candy displays at the front of the store. She glanced at the clock. Not even lunchtime. At least she could slow down and take a breath before the next wave.

She turned and scowled at Junia, who was seated on a stool and writing in a composition notebook. When her father had been up front checking out customers, Junia had made a half-hearted attempt to assist Ella in straightening and restocking the shelves. But as soon as Daed disappeared in the back, she sat down on the stool and started writing, something she’d been doing since Malachi left on Saturday. She’d even spent the afternoon and evening after church jotting in her notebook while Ella cleaned up the house after the service. She didn’t bother asking Junia to help. It was easier to do the cleaning herself, even though she was still tired from the day before. She was too exhausted to get into another argument.

But this was different. The store was their livelihood, and Junia was slacking even more than before. “The baking aisle needs some attention,” she said, facing her sister.

Junia didn’t answer or look up. She continued scribbling in the notebook.

“Did you hear me?” Ella moved closer, her fists on her hips.

Ya. Junia continued writing.

“Ooh.” She began to count, but by the time she got to ten her anger was almost out of control. “Get over there and clean it up before we have more customers.”

Slowly, with infuriating calm, Junia looked at her. “But you’re so much better at doing that than I am, Ella.” She returned to her writing with a smile.

True, but not because Ella had any special skill at tidying items on a shelf. There was only one reason she did a better job—she cared about her work and about the store. Junia didn’t. The blister of rage inside her popped, and she seized Junia’s notebook.

“Hey!” Junia jumped up from her chair. “You can’t read that!”

But Ella turned her back and started reading out loud.

Dear Malachi,

I just loved your last letter to me. You’re so funny and clever! I love hearing about your adventures on the farm—

“Stop it!” Junia shrieked, reaching around Ella to get the notebook.

But Ella spun around and hurried away, flipping to the beginning of the notebook.

Dear Diary,

Hmm. She didn’t know her sister kept a diary. Which reminded Ella that she hadn’t written in hers for over a week. She’d been too busy. And tired. The date on this entry was before Junia met Malachi.

Daed!” Junia screamed.

Ella scurried around the store, glancing at the pages. She couldn’t comprehend more than a word or two as she ran from Junia, and it didn’t matter. She was—

Junia jumped on her back.

“Oof!”

“That’s mine!” She clawed for the notebook. “Give it back!”

Nee!” Ella tried to throw her off.

But Junia clung to her. They spun forward. Crashed into the candy display. Hit the floor . . . just as the bell above the doorway rang.

Ella looked up. Wendy Pearson stood there, slack-jawed.

Maed!”

Ella scrambled to her feet. Junia did the same, then grabbed the notebook off the floor and held it against her chest. They both looked at their father . . . and Ella wished she hadn’t.

Daed’s face was redder than a cockscomb, a vein pulsing at his temple as he glowered at them. Uh-oh. She’d never seen him this mad. Not even close.

“I’ll come back later,” Wendy said as she turned to walk out of the store.

“Don’t.” Daed cleared his throat. “Please don’t let my daughters’ childish behavior inconvenience you.” He ignored them as he went to her. “What can I help you with?”

Wendy glanced at the shards of glass and broken candy canes littered on the floor. “Hot chocolate,” she said, still looking bewildered. “I thought I’d get Mom a little treat.”

“I’ll show you where it is.” He turned to Ella and Junia. “Clean this up,” he ordered in Deitsch. “Now.”

Ella went for the broom while Junia picked up the display rack off the floor. In addition to the candy canes scattered around, there were red, green, and silver wrapped chocolate kisses, little packages of red and green gumdrops, discs of peppermint candies, and white taffy with red and green lines running through it. Junia started to pick up the candy.

“Stop!” Ella barked.

Junia continued grabbing the candy, still clutching the notebook.

“There’s glass all over the floor. You’re going to—”

“Ow!”

“—cut yourself.” Ella sighed as Junia clutched her opposite hand. All the candy she’d picked up dropped to the floor. She went to her. “Let me see how bad it is.”

Nee! It’s your fault I’m hurt!”

The doorbell rang again, and three customers walked inside. Junia slipped out behind them.

Ella warned the women away from the mess with a forced smile. “Just a little accident. We’ll get it cleaned up right away.”

They nodded. One took a shopping cart while the other two picked up the large plastic baskets stacked next to the carts, and each went her separate way.

As quickly as possible Ella swept up the candy and glass together. The candy was ruined—there was a high chance that glass shards could have entered the wrapping, and she wasn’t going to take the chance of someone getting hurt. It was bad enough Junia had. She deserved it. She wouldn’t listen to me when I told her to stop.

But Ella’s guilt drowned out her pettiness. Junia was right this time. It was Ella’s fault. She shouldn’t have taken the diary, and she shouldn’t have kept it away from her. But those facts didn’t erase how satisfied she’d felt at Junia’s panicked anger. Very satisfied.

And that was a problem.