Katie's Way (27 page)

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Authors: Marta Perry

BOOK: Katie's Way
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Lisa, on the other hand, seemed to thrive on it. She was a born organizer, and her big green loose-leaf notebook, which contained details of every part of the project, was becoming famous in Pleasant Valley.
“Look in the green book,” Katie had heard one of the Plain merchants say this morning, “and see who is selling funnel cakes.”
Or if it wasn't funnel cakes, it was a question about what size tables could be on the sidewalk, and whether the fire company auxiliary could sell barbecue, or any of the hundreds of such answers listed within the bright green covers.
The Englisch seemed to bring their questions straight to Lisa, but Amish were more likely to use Katie as an intermediary. Like it or not, she seemed to have become, in some people's view at least, one of the organizers.
And if the event flopped? What would they think of her then? That was the question that kept her up at night.
Katie scurried the last few steps to her door, her gaze inevitably drawn to the window. The glass had been polished to a shine, but the dark green paint around the frame had suffered.
Averting her eyes, she went inside, smiling at Rhoda. “Any business while I was out?”
“Five women came in for fabric,” Rhoda reported. “I think the Dutch Days has everyone making something to sell. And two more had questions for you about it, but they said they'd be back. I wrote their names on the pad.”
“Gut.” Rhoda was turning into quite the businesswoman. “I have the women for the beginners' quilting class coming later for their first meeting, so would you mind taking posters around to the Main Street shops for me?”
Rhoda sent a glance toward the window. For a second she looked upset at the thought, but then she gave a determined nod. “Ja, I'll take them.”
Katie handed over a stack of the posters she'd picked up at Lisa's. “Lisa says to give everyone as many as they can use.”
Nodding, Rhoda headed for the door. If she hesitated again at the window, Katie couldn't tell.
Rhoda had barely disappeared from view when the bell jingled again. The Amish woman who entered was vaguely familiar from church and from the Pennsylvania Dutch Days meeting, but Katie couldn't recall her name.
“Wilkom,” she said. “Can I help you with anything?”
The woman sent a quick, sidelong glance toward Caleb's shop as she approached the counter. “Ja, I . . . I am chust wondering where to set up a table for my hooked rugs. For the sale, I mean.”
Katie pulled out the sketch map of the street that showed where each stand would be. She spread it out between them on the counter. The woman seemed nervous. Maybe she hadn't done anything like this before now.
“There are lots of places available.” Katie tapped the paper. “Here is room for another table near Caleb's shop next door. Or over here by Bishop Mose's harness shop.”
“I . . . I had best take the one by Bishop Mose.” The woman gripped the edge of the counter with work-worn hands.
Katie poised her pencil over the square to mark it. “I'm sorry, but I don't remember your name.”
“It's Ruth. Ruth Weaver.”
It was a wonder Katie's pencil point didn't break. This was Mattie Weaver's mother, then. Of course she wouldn't want a space in front of Caleb's store. Katie wrote the name on the square by the harness shop. “There. You're all set.” She smiled, hoping her face didn't betray her feelings.
“Denke.” Ruth Weaver turned, as if she meant to leave as quickly as she'd come, but then she hesitated. “You have a nice shop. I'll come back to look at material another day.”
“Anytime,” Katie said. “I hope the sale goes well for you.”
Ruth nodded, but her gaze was fixed on the archway between the shops, and Katie could make nothing of her expression. It seemed to cover some deep feeling, but it wasn't anything as simple as anger.
Before Katie could find anything else to say, Ruth hurried out.
Katie let out a long breath. What had the woman been thinking as she stared so long at Caleb's shop? Well, whatever it was, there was nothing Katie could do about it. She'd best get working on having everything ready for the new quilters.
It had been a surprise when several women had stopped by the shop and asked when Katie would start a beginners' class. In each case, the woman was an Englisch person who'd heard about the quilting group from Lisa or Melanie or Donna. That original group was bearing fruit already.
Katie had decided that five was the most she could manage with women who had no idea how to quilt. They would make a simple pattern . . . a bars design on a place mat. Fast to do if they were apt learners, and then, once they'd learned the basics, they could make a whole set of place mats.
She began setting up materials in the back room. In addition to what the learners would need, she laid out several examples of quilt patterns and her own quilt in progress. That Lancaster Rose quilt had been suffering from neglect lately, she'd been so busy.
And there was the sound of someone in the shop—maybe another of their volunteers with a question. Before she could reach the door, Caleb was there, seeming to fill the opening.
She hadn't talked to him since Saturday except under Bishop Mose's eyes when they were cleaning up yesterday.
“Do you have a moment?”
“Of course.” She arranged her face in what she hoped was a natural smile. Had he heard the voice of the woman who had once been his intended mother-in-law? Katie certainly wouldn't speak of it unless he did.
He came in, making the small room seem even smaller. “My maam asked about you. She wanted me to say that if you need anything, just tell us.”
“Denke.” Her tension eased. “That is ser kind of her. But you already helped yesterday. There is nothing else to do.”
“I noticed the paint around the window looks a little dull and scratched.” He moved closer, absently fingering the fabric pieces she'd laid out. “I see that the paint can is still in the basement. I'll take care of touching it up for you.”
“That's not necessary. I can easily do it myself.” She glanced at his face and wished she hadn't, because his eyebrows had lifted, and his lips tilted in the slightest smile.
“What was it Bishop Mose said yesterday? Some teaching about humility in accepting help, was it?”
“I think you know full well it was,” she retorted. “But you ...”
She couldn't very well say that she didn't want him doing favors for her after standing her up for their buggy ride on Sunday, could she?
“How is Becky?” she said instead. Maybe that subject would remind him.
“Better today. She is actually showing a little spirit.”
“Using it to vent her anger with Rhoda?”
“No, using it to defend you.”
“What?” Katie could only stare at him. “Why?”
Caleb's gaze slid away from hers. “I'm afraid Nancy was being outspoken about the vandalism. Andy talked to her pretty sharp about that unkindness. But not before our Becky had her own say about how gut you have been to her.”
Katie wasn't sure whether to respond to Nancy's ill will or Becky's defense. In the end she did neither. “Is that what most folks are thinking—that the vandalism is because Tommy Esch kissed Rhoda?”
Caleb's forehead furrowed. “I don't know about most folks. Nancy jumped to that conclusion. What does Bishop Mose say?”
“He . . . He seems to have some ideas.” Confiding in Caleb might not be the best thing.
“Katie?” The gravity in his tone brought her gaze to Caleb's face again. He leaned toward her, hand planted on the table. “Will you tell me what Rhoda says happened at the mall?”
She hesitated. Hadn't she just reminded herself that confiding in him could be a mistake? But he was looking at her with such honest concern that her misgivings slipped away.
“Rhoda says that she and Becky were at the food court, and the other girls were ignoring them. So when the boys came to her and Becky, they played up to them a bit. You don't need to tell me that Rhoda was the leader in that, because I'm sure she was.”
“She's more outgoing than Becky is,” he said, his tone neutral.
“Ja, well, Rhoda went to the restroom, and when she was coming back, Tommy grabbed her and kissed her. Apparently Becky saw that. Maybe she didn't see Rhoda box his ears for him.”
“No,” he said slowly, “she didn't. And I guess she didn't let her friend explain, either.”
“No.” Katie looked at him steadily.
Any more than you did, Caleb.
“I hope Rhoda gave him a gut hard clout.” Caleb's reaction was unexpected.
“Ja, I expect she did. Molly thinks . . .”
“What?” He was sharp.
“That maybe the other boys dared him to do it.”
He nodded slowly. “That seems most likely. Tommy isn't the kind of boy who'd think of a mean jest on . . .” He let that trail off, because the shop door bell had rung.
Katie hurried out, very conscious of Caleb right behind her.
An Amish boy stood looking around the shop. Katie tried to place him, but couldn't.
“Joseph?” Caleb strode toward him. “Katie, this is Joseph Auten. What brings you here, Joseph? Thinking of taking up quilting?”
The boy grinned. “Bishop sent me with notes. One for Katie Miller and one for you.”
Caleb held out his hand. “Hand them over then, and get on back to work.”
The boy gave each of them a piece of folded yellow tablet paper. “Bishop said not to dally.” He scooted to the door and was gone in a moment.
Katie frowned at the paper. At both pieces of paper. Why was Bishop Mose writing to each of them? She flipped the paper open. It was the shortest of notes, asking her and Rhoda to come to his house that evening at seven.
She showed it to Caleb. “Is yours the same?”
He scanned it. “Ja, except that it asks me to bring Becky. If I were guessing, I would say that Bishop Mose has found out something.”
“But what?” Katie's mind scampered from the vandalism to Rhoda's behavior and back again.
Caleb shrugged. “I guess we'll find that out at seven tonight.” He turned away, and then back again. “About Sunday,” he said abruptly. “I'm sorry. It was wrong of me not to let you know I wasn't coming. . . .”
“I understood,” she said quickly, not wanting to let him guess at how his failure to send a note had hurt.
But she suspected he knew anyway. He looked for a moment as if he'd say something more, but then he turned and walked off.
 
 
Katie
and Rhoda left home in plenty of time to walk to Bishop Mose's house on the edge of the village that evening. Fortunately Rhoda hadn't given her an argument about wearing her bonnet. It was one thing to dash over to a neighboring shop on a summer day wearing only the kapp over her hair, but a summons to the bishop's place called for a bonnet.
“What do you think he wants, Katie?” Rhoda asked the question for perhaps the tenth time.
“I don't know the answer to that now any more than I did every other time you asked me, ain't so? Since he wants both Caleb and Becky to be there, as well, I can only guess it has to do with what happened at the mall.”
Rhoda's heart-shaped face was pinched. “It's going to be so embarrassing,” she moaned. “Can't we just forget about it?”
“We must trust the bishop to know what is right.”
“But I don't want to blame anybody or get anyone else in trouble. Even Tommy. I just want to be friends with Becky again.”
The words squeezed Katie's heart. “I know.”
She'd been making an effort to speak lightly with her young sister, but Katie couldn't rid herself of an edge of worry. She had confidence in Bishop Mose's ability to discern the truth, but what if he felt Rhoda's behavior deserved censure? How would she deal with that?
They were nearing the edge of the village, where the mix of shops and houses turned to just homes, most English but a few Amish. Children ran around outside in the long sunshine of early June. Roses were blooming with abandon, as if to celebrate the warmth and light, and people were out mulching flower beds and mowing the grass.
A group of boys played basketball in a driveway while a couple of small Amish girls tried to master roller skates under the watchful eyes of a slightly older sister. Beyond the houses farmland stretched in a carpet of pale green to the wooded hillsides that enclosed Pleasant Valley.
A peaceful scene . . . It was small wonder that those first settlers who'd crossed the Susquehanna to establish homes here had named it Pleasant Valley.
Pleasant, ja. But envy and malice existed everywhere, even in these peaceful surroundings. Gossiping tongues caused heartache here as in every place where people tried to live together. And someone had slipped through the night to vandalize other people's property.
Only God is truly good, Katie reminded herself. The rest of us borrow what goodness we can from Him, always praying that we're doing what He has for us to do.
Bishop Mose's small, unpretentious house was in sight now. He had lived there alone, she knew, since the death of his wife, but the rest of the community would have made sure that he was well taken care of.
A low fence surrounded the yard, and a climbing rose bloomed on an arbor over the gate. Katie pushed it open. If only Daadi were here . . .
But he wasn't, and this situation was her responsibility. She had changed in the short time she'd lived here in Pleasant Valley. Grown, maybe. She could only hope she'd grown enough to deal with whatever was about to happen.

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