Naomi was collecting eggs when she heard Lizzie screaming from inside the house. She dropped the basket of six eggs and darted across the yard. When she flung open the front door, Lizzie was standing on the couch screeching at the top of her lungs.
“That cat thinks mei teeth are a toy!” Lizzie pointed at Whiskers who was playing hockey with her dentures across the wood floor. “I will never put those things in mei mouth again.”
“Whiskers, nee!” Naomi yelled at the kitten as the animal scurried up the stairs with the teeth in her mouth. Naomi turned to Lizzie. “I’m so sorry! She must have gotten out of mei room again.”
Esther and Mary were breathless as they burst through the front door.
“What’s wrong?” Esther’s face was red, and panic shone in her eyes. “Are you all right, Lizzie?”
“Nee! I was attacked by that cat who just ran off with mei teeth! And it’s a black cat!” Lizzie collapsed onto the couch and threw a hand across her forehead. “Naomi, that critter has got to go.”
Naomi nodded before she hurried upstairs. She found Whiskers under her bed guarding Lizzie’s dentures like a dog guards a bone.
“Bad kitty,” she said as she reached under the bed and wrangled the teeth out of the cat’s mouth. Then she checked her bedroom door since she was sure she had closed it. When she pushed on it, it didn’t lock into place, and apparently Whiskers had learned how to open it.
She didn’t know how Lizzie typically cleaned her dentures, so she just ran them under cool water before she went back downstairs holding the teeth.
“You scared me to death!” Esther was still breathing hard and sat with her arms across her stomach. “I couldn’t imagine what was happening.”
Mary was still catching her breath too. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
Lizzie’s eyes widened as she sat taller. “Okay? Do I look okay?” Her prayer covering had slipped to the side, but otherwise Naomi thought she looked fine. She offered Lizzie the dentures.
“I washed them off with water, but I’m sure they need a better cleaning.” When Lizzie didn’t take the teeth, Naomi set them on the coffee table.
“I’m not wearing those.” Lizzie folded her arms across her chest.
“Ach, ya, you are,” Esther said quickly as she dropped her arms to her sides, frowning. “Don’t you remember how much those dentures cost? You just sanitize them, and you’ll be fine.”
Heavy footsteps pounded against the slats on the porch, then Gus crossed the threshold into the living room, his gray hair a matted mess spiking in every direction, like a worn gray mop.
“What the . . . ? Lizzie, have you finally lost the last of your marbles? I could hear you carrying on from my place. And I was taking a nap,” he growled.
“She’s fine, Gus. Just a little run-in with Naomi’s new kitten.” Esther sighed.
“I wish everyone would quit saying I’m fine.” Lizzie laid her head against the back of the couch cushion, dramatically placing the top of her hand against her forehead again. “I could have been killed.”
Naomi stifled a grin. She’d never known anyone so afraid of cats, especially a kitten as playful and affectionate as Whiskers.
Gus broke out in thunderous laughter. “All this over a stupid cat? You’re afraid of a cat?”
Lizzie glared at Gus before turning to Esther. “Can you please tell that despicable man to get out of our haus?”
“Do you even know what that word means, you crazy old broad?” Gus ran a hand through his hair, which made his disheveled appearance even worse.
“Gus, be quiet.” Esther waved a dismissive hand in his direction. “And go home.”
“With pleasure. This is a nut house.” Gus shook his head and left. Mary followed a few minutes later.
Naomi was glad Amos’s mother was gone visiting relatives again. It was a bit like a nut house this morning. Amos might not have heard the commotion since he was working on the back fence at the far end of the pasture.
Esther offered to make Lizzie some tea, and Naomi went upstairs to find Whiskers. He’d earned his place in the barn before he was really old enough to be on his own, but Naomi was a guest in this house, no matter how much Esther and Lizzie referred to her as family.
After everyone had settled down, Naomi went to fetch her eggs. Three were broken inside the wicker basket. Luckily there were a dozen more to be collected. After setting them in the kitchen she went to the barn and made Whiskers a bed out of hay and found two metal bowls she could use for food and water. She’d gotten used to cuddling with the cat at night, but after this incident, Whiskers would have to be a barn cat.
She was filling up the bowl with water at the pump outside when Amos walked up to her, breathing hard. “I ran across the pasture when I heard screaming, but it took me a while to get here. Is everyone okay?”
“Ya, ya.” Bowl filled, she started back to the barn, Amos following.
She placed the water next to the food bowl, then filled Amos in on the chaos from minutes earlier. “The kitten ran off with Lizzie’s dentures, and since Lizzie is terrified of cats, Whiskers is going to have to stay outside now.”
He chuckled. “I’m sorry. But I kind of wish I’d seen all that.”
Naomi laughed too. “It was funny.” She shook her head. “I wasn’t ready to banish Whiskers to the barn just yet, but maybe she’ll be happier out here.”
“Ya, probably.” Amos shifted his weight. “Um . . . danki for sharing your painting with me.” He looped his thumbs beneath his suspenders. “It told me a lot about you.”
Naomi sensed her face turning red. “Gut things, I hope.” She hugged herself, wishing she had someone else to hug her sometimes.
“We can talk about it this evening. We’re still on for painting that sunset, ya? Although I’m pretty sure I can’t top what you already painted.”
She avoided his eyes as she kicked at the dirt floor in the barn. “I painted it a long time ago.”
“When you were happy,” he said softly as one corner of his mouth lifted.
She looked up at him. “Ya, I guess so.”
“Colors have meaning, and you captured the mood you were in.” Now it was Amos who looked flushed.
“What do you mean, colors have meaning?” Naomi had never heard such a thing. Grinning, she said, “Are you secretly an art critic?”
He chuckled. “Nee. But a painting can reflect an artist’s personality and reveal their state of mind.”
Naomi gazed into his eyes, searching to know more about him, and leery for him to know more about her. “It’s just a painting,” she said softly.
“If you say so.” He tipped the rim of his hat. “I better get back to work. See you after supper?”
“Ya.” It had been a long time since Naomi had something to look forward to. The thought of painting with Amos made her nervous, but it was a thrilling sort of nervousness that seemed to be opening up that part of herself she’d closed off from the world.
* * *
Amos took his time getting back to the fence work, his thoughts all over the place. There was more to Naomi Byler than she was letting him see. Amos supposed he was the same way—wary. Maybe letting his guard down would be a step toward a healing he hadn’t cared to pursue before now. Maybe he and Naomi could help each other navigate the darkness and step back into the light of the living.
Even after he’d buried himself in his project again, his thoughts kept returning to her, and he wondered if he should tell her how much her painting meant to him. How it spoke to him. Amos wasn’t a scholar. He’d had the same eighth grade education as every other Amish person. But he’d taken an interest in painting when he was young. His parents hadn’t encouraged it, but they hadn’t dissuaded it either, as long as he stuck to landscapes. Painting a portrait of a person wouldn’t have been acceptable, although he’d always wanted to capture someone the way he saw them.
By suppertime he was even more anxious to put a brush to canvas. It had been so long. After the meal Naomi showed him where the supplies were, including two homemade easels, which caused him to wonder if she had painted with someone else at some point. Maybe Thomas. A niggling curiosity nipped at him as he wondered what Thomas would have painted. Would his choice of colors have indicated his future breakup with Naomi? He shook the thought away. Color perception was mostly in the eyes of the beholder and could probably be interpreted a hundred different ways.
Amos loaded everything into a small wagon he’d found in the barn. Naomi would meet him down by the pond after she cleared the dishes, and he planned to have things ready to go by the time she arrived.
* * *
Esther, Lizzie, and Anna Mae peered out the window in the living room.
“Amos took painting supplies to the pond.” Esther put a hand across her heart. “It’s where Naomi used to paint, but she hasn’t done that since she and her fiancé broke up.”
“Amos has loved art since he was a young boy. It worried us at first, that he might become so taken with it that he’d choose to leave our community and pursue the craft in a more professional way.” Anna Mae smiled. “But he never showed any indication that he wanted to leave the faith, or us. It was just something he enjoyed, and he was usually in a better mood when he had time to paint. It’s been a long time since he’s shown an interest—since Sarah died.”
Lizzie clapped her hands as she bounced up on her toes. “They’re going to fall in lieb.”
“Slow down.” Esther wanted a romance to bloom as much as Lizzie, but it was far too soon to tell if that would happen. “We must remember they are both nursing broken hearts.”
“I see the way they look at each other.” Lizzie sputtered without her teeth. All she’d eaten at supper was mashed potatoes. Esther didn’t want to embarrass her sister in front of Anna Mae, but she’d speak with Lizzie later about wearing her dentures.
“I’ve always said I’d be crushed if one of mei kinner left our district in Ohio, but now I have to say I hope Amos finds lieb here. I’ve noticed the way they look at each other, too, and mei sohn’s happiness is worth more to me than having him physically close.” Anna Mae paused as her eyes took on a faraway look. “He’s been so filled with grief that I worried he would never get beyond losing Sarah. Seeing him with Naomi fills me with hope.” She paused, seeming lost in her thoughts for a moment. “Anyway, I’ll be leaving tomorrow. I wish I could stay, but mei family depends on me, and I miss them. It has been wonderful being here, seeing and meeting so many relatives, and spending time with you two and Naomi.” She put a hand on Esther’s arm. “I’m counting on you to write to me and let me know if romance begins to blossom.”
“Ach, it is already,” Lizzie said with the confidence of someone who could predict the future. Esther chose to revel in the possibility. Naomi was a lovely woman who deserved happiness. “They’re wildly attracted to each other,” Lizzie added.
“That’s not appropriate talk, Lizzie. We both know there is more to love than physical attraction.” Although, it was hard not to notice how handsome and charming Amos was.
“I’m off to bed.” Anna Mae yawned. “But I’ll be hoping and dreaming things go well for mei Amos and your Naomi.”
Esther yawned, too, happy she could retire early this evening. She wouldn’t have to wait until Lizzie was asleep to take Gus his pie. She’d handled that this morning.
But what about all the other days? The man got what he wanted through bribery, and eventually Esther would have to fess up to Lizzie about the deal she’d made with him—pie for life. It felt akin to making a deal with the devil. She’d have to lay eyes on that man every single day.
Heaviest on her heart right then was her impending doctor’s appointment. She’d only had one other episode of coughing up blood since it happened in front of Gus, but something was definitely wrong. Even though she was terrified to find out what it was, she’d have no peace until she knew. After a diagnosis she’d tell Lizzie. Maybe she’d even break her bargain with Gus. What could he do if she didn’t bring him pie every day, anyway?
For tonight she preferred to focus on Naomi and Amos. Maybe God had sent the man Naomi was meant to be with. Esther had thought it was Thomas, although Lizzie doubted him from the beginning. She’d said it wasn’t anything she could put her finger on, just that something about Thomas bothered her. It was odd since Lizzie was usually the head cheerleader when it came to love. But then Thomas left and never looked back.
* * *
Naomi arrived at the pond about an hour before the sun would reach the trees. They would have just enough time to sketch the scene and then apply color during the last rays of sunset. Amos had everything set up. Each easel held a ten-by-thirteen canvas, and he’d laid out all the paints and brushes in the wagon between them. Naomi owned two color palettes, which were also in the wagon, along with a gallon of water and two cups for rinsing brushes.
“I feel weird painting in front of anyone.” Amos scratched his cheek, but grinned.
Naomi smiled. And for once, she was smiling on the inside too. “I do too. Danki for admitting that.”
“And I’m even more nervous after seeing your painting.” He paused, his eyes locking with hers. “It says a lot about you.”
“Probably that I’m not very gut.” She laughed nervously.
Amos tipped back his hat, then rubbed his chin. “Nee, I think you’re very gut. Like I said, much better than me. But you lack confidence.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “Really? You could tell that from one painting?”
He raised an eyebrow, grinning again. “You just said you’re probably not very gut. That sounds like a lack of confidence.”
“How could you tell that from a painting?”
“I’ll show you after we get started and get some color on the canvas.” He picked up one of the color palettes and handed it to her, then grabbed the other one for himself.
“Now I’m really nervous.” Naomi’s stomach began to churn as she chewed on her bottom lip.
“Don’t be. We both like to paint. We haven’t done it in a long time.” He shrugged. “Maybe we’ll actually have some fun.”
“Fun? What’s that?” She let out another nervous chuckle.
“Exactly. Let’s just enjoy ourselves and see how it goes.”
Naomi nodded, then chose her colors and began to paint an outline of where the water met the shore on the other side, the towering cornstalks, and the twenty or so feet directly in front of them. She tried not to move her head, but occasionally she cut her eyes in Amos’s direction. He was starting the same way, creating an outline of color.
They were both quiet for about fifteen minutes, until he said, “Did you know that colors have different meanings?”
Naomi finished painting the dark blue base of the water, where she’d later blend in hues of orange. If she did it right, the water would almost appear to be moving, glistening as day turned to night.
Lifting her brush from the canvas, she turned to face him. He was staring at her, and she instantly wondered how long he’d been watching her. “Colors are mentioned in the Bible, but I’m afraid I don’t actually know what they mean or symbolize.”
He looked back at his canvas. “I can’t recall the meaning of colors in the Bible either.”
She allowed herself a few seconds to watch his style, thinking she might take time to make the connection about colors and symbolism in the Bible. Even though she’d never painted with anyone, she had to assume everyone did it differently, and Amos’s method was not the same as hers. He was . . . wilder with the paintbrush. Maybe that’s what he meant about confidence, because he painted like he had all the confidence in the world, which made her wonder if he was like that in life. Perhaps that’s what he meant about being able to tell things about a person from the way they paint. He’d picked up that she was underconfident, and to her, he appeared very self-assured.
When the sun met the horizon, they both stayed busily at work, not saying a word. There was only so much time to capture the beauty of a glowing sunset on a fall day. In the distance behind the corn, Naomi could see the orange-and-yellow leaves of the trees, which made for a lovely contrast against the dark green corn. Then there was the pond and the challenge to paint the reflections of both in all the right places.
Naomi finished before Amos, so she edged closer to have a better look at his work. He didn’t seem to notice as he painted similar reflections against the water, but his painting looked nothing like hers.
“I don’t know how you can say I’m a better painter than you, because it is absolutely not true.” She gazed at his canvas with a sense of awe, and as she took in every detail, she realized it was indeed . . . telling. When he still hadn’t responded or looked her way, she said, “You’re a perfectionist.”
Smiling, he slowly lifted his brush from the canvas. “What else do you see?”
She leaned closer, her arm brushing against his, which sent an unexpected tingle up her spine. “You . . .” Lifting her head to meet his eyes, she wasn’t sure if she should say what was on her mind, but she took a deep breath and continued. “You hide things. I mean, not things. You hide your feelings.”
He tilted his head to one side as if pondering her comment. “Maybe.” He looked at his painting long and hard before he turned back to her. “How can you tell that from my painting?”
Careful not to touch the wet surface, she pointed to a spot in the forefront of his scene, where the weedy grass met the water’s edge. “In reality the grass tapers down into the water, but in your painting, you don’t show the gradual decline. It’s like the weeds don’t share space with the water, which hides the reality that they do.”
He took off his hat, scratched his head, then put it back on. “Wow. You’re right. I never would have noticed that. I guess it’s impossible to be objective about your own work.”
“I didn’t mean it as an insult at all. You paint beautifully.”
Grinning, he said, “Now let’s have a look at yours.”
She momentarily covered her face with her hands and spoke through her fingers. “Let’s not.”
He gently grabbed her wrists and eased her hands down. Then he walked behind her, his body pressed slightly against her.
“May I?” He didn’t wait for an answer. Picking up her brush, he put it in her hand. With his arms coming around in front of her, he cupped one hand around hers and leaned over her shoulder. She could feel his breath warm against her neck as he guided her hand into the dark green paint. Then he dabbed a tiny amount of white on the end and moved toward the cornstalks.
“Here’s why I said you’re underconfident, not because of what you said.” With perfect precision, he led the brush in her hand to the leafy part of a cornstalk, then pressed a soft swoosh upward.
She let out a small gasp as he pulled their hands away from the canvas, and when she turned to face him, he’d leaned down enough that they almost bumped noses.
“It looks so much better with that extra length, and it’s so delicate. I’m always afraid of—” She stopped herself and grinned. “Underconfident.” She nodded. “I guess you’re right. I’m always afraid of the ripple effect that happens when I don’t have enough paint on the brush.”
“Look at all your other cornstalks. If you did this with all of them, it would show a sort of freedom, like they’re endless and reaching for the clouds, growing in Gott’s grace.” He smiled, but it quickly faded. “And I guess I need to quit hiding mei feelings.”
Still facing him, she asked. “Was I right? Is that just the way you paint, or do you camouflage the way you feel also?”
He rubbed the side of his neck, avoiding her eyes. “Ya. I think I probably do.”
“Ach, well, I guess we learned something about each other today.” She took a small step away since they were clearly still in each other’s personal space.
He backed up a few steps, putting more distance between him and the paintings. “Come stand beside me.”
Naomi did and studied the paintings like he was.
“We’re painting a fall sunset, so it’s no surprise that we both used orange, brighter in the sky and softer as it reflects off of the water.” He pointed to her painting. “You chose a base palette of brown for the grass and lightened up the blades with yellow to make it look plush. I did the same.” Pulling back his hand, he lifted his hat and ran his other hand through his hair. “I’m not an art expert or anything”—he chuckled—“and everyone will always paint a different picture of the same thing.” His expression sobered. “But you and I did one thing exactly the same.”
Naomi glanced back and forth between the paintings a few times before she noticed it. “Wow,” she said softly. “They both have an overall grayish tint, almost like we whitewashed a watercolor gray over the entire thing.” She looked at him. “I didn’t mean to do that. Did you?”
“Nee.” He was quiet for a moment. “If I didn’t say so before, danki for sharing your painting with me—the one you left in mei room.”
She could feel herself blushing as she shrugged. “It’s just unusual to find another Amish person who paints. Thomas thought it was a waste of time, but for me, it was the freedom to dream.”
Amos frowned. “You were happy when you painted that picture. Hopeful.”
Naomi managed a smile. “Ya, I was. I didn’t know what it was like to have mei heart broken yet.”
He looked back at both of their paintings as he pressed two fingers to his mouth, trying to hide a smile. “I know it’s not funny, but there’s no mistake that we both toned down what should have been a beautiful sunset filled with robust colors. It seems to symbolize our unhappiness and lack of hope.”
“I don’t want to be that person, but I feel stuck.”
“That’s how I feel too.” He looped his thumbs beneath his suspenders and smiled at her. “I’ve enjoyed painting with you today. Maybe we can keep meeting in the evenings.”
Naomi smiled, surprised at how much she’d enjoyed the evening and the discussion. “I’d like that. Do you want to keep painting this scene, or go somewhere else?”
“I think these paintings reflect our emotions. It wouldn’t hurt either of us to see if we can cheer them. Maybe if we bring more color to the canvas, we’ll bring more color to our lives.”
Naomi locked eyes with him as butterflies swirled in her stomach. There was a small and recognizable hint of joy. She liked Amos. He was handsome and smart, and he shared her passion for painting. But he was emotionally unavailable, and Naomi needed to remember that and keep plenty of distance between them. Just the feel of his hand on hers earlier and his breath on her neck had filled her with pleasure. And that scared her a little.