Keys of Heaven (10 page)

P
riscilla had to resist—and keep resisting—the temptation to walk over their back acres to the Byler barn. Her curiosity about Eric and his pottery project was practically buzzing in the air around her head. But if Dat found out she'd left the sewing lying on the table to go running off across lots, she'd be in
Druwwel
so deep she wouldn't climb out until she got married.

So, since today was Tuesday, she and Katie sewed new dresses for themselves and Saranne, and Pris did her level best to focus on it. Mamm had got a new sewing machine, so it was a race to see who would get to it first, and who would have to make do with the old treadle that Mamm and Mammi and probably even Grossmammi had used. Before he gave it to her, Dat had taken the new machine over to Eli Fischer in Whinburg, who removed its electric motor and made it run on compressed air instead. It took a bit of concentration at first to get the hang of making the stitches even without it getting away from her. Priscilla had lost control of it once and sent the needle practically galloping down the seam. But once she'd learned, its speed came in handy on the long borders of quilts. You could put those on lickety-split, as long as you kept a close eye on the needle and didn't let the fabric get twisted or bunched.

“I love this color,” Katie said, stroking the soft gold poly-cotton with a loving hand. It had a real subtle ripple in it that made it look silky while still being sturdy enough to wear in the buggy or to town. “It looks like the sun does in the late afternoon.”

“I'm glad we have enough for all three of us,” Pris agreed. “Plain and Fancy Fabrics gets in such nice stuff—Miriam and Amanda really have a knack for ordering colors everyone likes.”

“Everyone but the old ladies,” Katie said, dropping her voice in case Mamm heard and thought she was being disrespectful.

“Miriam sells dark colors, too.” Pris put the scissors down and began to pin the underarm seam of a sleeve. “See this? What I really want to do is put a couple of pintucks in at the bottom edge. Do you think Mamm would make me take them out?”

“Yes,” Katie said, the fabric whirring under the needle, guided by her patient hands.

“Really? Malinda Kanagy had two tucks in her sleeves on Sunday, did you see? Right at the hem, like this. You could hardly notice them until you got up close to her.”

“Just because Malinda got away with it doesn't mean you will. Come on, Pris. You're already in enough trouble over the fire. Don't push it.”

Priscilla made a rude sound with her lips. “There were some girls at the volleyball game on Friday who had them, too—and little fabric flowers in between the two tucks. They were so cute.”

“Now you're just being crazy. Flowers?”

“Sure. Made from the same fabric as the dress. Some were shaped like little daisies, and one girl had snipped hers all around, like a dandelion.”

“You know what Mamm does to dandelions.”

Sadly, Priscilla did, all too well. Mamm yanked them out of the ground and fed them to the chickens, because you couldn't compost them. They'd just grow back.

A couple of hours later, the dresses were finished. Priscilla put hers on and turned this way and that in front of the glass doors of
der Echschank
, the corner cabinet, where Mamm kept her wedding china. It was the only surface in the house large enough that you could see most of your reflection at once, since the bathroom mirror was only big enough to see your face and hair. The dress fit nicely and she liked the smooth touch of the fabric on her shins.

When she got ready for work on Wednesday, it was tempting to take the dress off its hanger and put it on, but that would be foolish. A color this light was meant for going to town in, or riding in a courting buggy on a Sunday afternoon.

She pruned up her lips. Talk about an opportunity lost—the only courting buggy she had a chance of riding in was sitting in Paul Byler's barn, unused now that Joe was out in Colorado.

Maybe she should have taken Benny Peachey up on his offer the other day. But no. That was too high a price to pay for the pleasure of wearing a yellow dress.

So she put on one of her work dresses, a dark green that didn't show dirt much. When she got to the Rose Arbor Inn, she found the place in an uproar, with suitcases and overflowing shopping bags standing in the hall, the bookcase Mrs. Parker had bought out in the parking lot next to their big SUV, and quilts draped on the banisters of the staircase and on the seats of the chairs in the sitting room.

“This place is going to seem very big and roomy when they're gone,” she said to Ginny, who was dashing from stove to sink to refrigerator as she tried to get breakfast together.

“It wouldn't be so bad, but Mrs. Parker has lost track of some of her belongings, and they're turning rooms and car upside down trying to figure out what she did with them.”

Poor Ginny. She needed more help right now than simply cleaning and dusting. “Why don't you let me make the gravy, and you can go and help them?” She wouldn't be able to get started on the cleaning anyway, if the guests weren't out of the bedrooms and bathrooms yet.

“That would be great.” And a big plastic spoon was smacked into her hand as someone called down from upstairs and Ginny went to help.

Yum, sausage gravy. Priscilla breathed the heavenly scent. It took a bit of attention at first, but once it was bubbling, she'd throw the biscuits together and get them on the cookie sheets, ready for baking. She hovered over the pan, stirring and adding cream, when she realized she wasn't alone.

“Hey,” Eric said, leaning around the door frame. “I mean,
Gooder merry-yah
.”

“
Guder Mariye
,” she responded with a smile, and then lowered her voice. “Well?” After a moment, when he didn't smile back, she had to ask. “Did you get it done?”

His face was pale and his eyes a little red, as if he hadn't got enough sleep last night, or had been crying. “No,” he said a little desperately. “I don't know what to do. Dad says we have to be on the highway by nine, and it's eight fifteen already, and I haven't heard anything from Henry. I was there till almost eleven last night.”

Eleven? She'd already been asleep for two hours. “What is left to be done?”

“I trimmed it last night and Henry was going to see if it was hard enough to pack this morning, so I could take it with me. But if Dad wants to leave, there isn't going to be time for me to get over there and pick it up.”

This was making no sense to Priscilla. She understood wanting to keep something to yourself, but not like this. “Can't you just tell your father about it? You must have said something when you got back last night.”

“They didn't know I was gone.”

For a moment she just stared at the boy in astonishment. “How could they not know? All they'd have to do is look in your room.”

“They went to some play or musical or something, and I said I didn't want to go. I gave Justin the slip and went to Henry's, and got back just before they did.”

“Oh, Eric.” What was wrong with simply telling the truth? “You have to tell them. They won't be angry—they'll probably be happy you've found something you enjoyed doing on your holiday.”

“No, they won't. They don't know about the art school and I'm not going to tell them. Not until we get home.” His green eyes held hers desperately. “Priscilla, you have to help me.”

What on earth could she do? Lie down in the gravel behind the SUV so they couldn't leave?

“Help you do what?” Justin strolled into the dining room and swiped an orange out of the bowl on the table. “You mess up again, Eric? Wet your bed and need Priscilla Rose to change the sheets?”

“Stop being so mean, Justin,” Priscilla snapped before she thought.

“I'm not mean.” Justin looked wounded. “He did wet the bed.”

“When I was
five
.” Eric vanished up the stairs, leaving Priscilla alone with Justin.

Wunderbaar.
At least the Dutch doors were closed to the guests, so he couldn't invade the kitchen, only lean on the top of it and talk.

Talk didn't mean anything. Everyone knew that action really said what was in your mind. If the fruit of your lips gave praise to His name and your hands were busy taking food out of your brother's mouth, which one would God take most into account?

Exactly.

Even so, Priscilla braced herself for whatever nonsense would come out of Justin's mouth.

“Do you really think I'm mean?”

Of course he would want to talk about himself.

“I don't know you well enough to answer that.” She stirred the gravy and inspected its color. “But bringing up something so personal in front of a stranger isn't very kind.”

“I was just teasing him. He's used to it.”

“There is teasing, and then there's meanness. One hurts, and the other doesn't.” Maybe a little more flour. She sprinkled it in.

“Eric doesn't care.”

“Oh? Is that why he ran out of the room?”

“He ran out because he's been so antsy he can't sit still. I don't know what's the matter with him. My parents were fine last night, and this morning everyone's all mad at each other.” He leaned over the top of the door. “What is that?”

“Sausage gravy, to go on the biscuits I'm going to make.”

“I thought you were the chambermaid.”

“I am, but Ginny needs help this morning, and I can make biscuits. I do it at home all the time.” Oops. Too much flour. Now she'd better put in a little more cream. There would be no shortage of gravy this morning, that was for sure.

“Can I taste it?”

“It's not ready.”

“When will it be ready?”

“When you stop bothering me and let me finish it.”

“Now who's being mean?”

She flicked a glance at him. “Most people can tell the difference between being mean and being truthful.”

“Sometimes they're the same thing.”

“You can tell the truth without being mean.”

“Depends on the truth, I guess.”

“Depends on the spirit you say it in. I only meant that if you talk to me, I'll be distracted from the gravy. If it burns, all this meat and cream will be wasted.”

“I'm glad to know I distract you.”

“A fly in the room would do the same.”

He shook his head at her. “I'm just not going to get anywhere with you, am I?”

“I don't know why you'd want to. You're going home today.” Thank goodness.

“Not if my mom doesn't find her sunglasses.”

Pris stopped stirring. “Is that why the house is upside down? They're looking for a pair of sunglasses?” How ridiculous. Mrs. Parker had probably left them on a restaurant table somewhere and they were long gone.

“They cost five hundred dollars. Mom is kind of attached to them.”

Pris nearly dropped the spoon flat in the gravy. “Five hundred dollars! For three pieces of plastic and two hinges? How is that even possible?”

He shrugged. “It's what they cost. So yeah, she's turning the house upside down. That's why I'm down here talking to you. It's not safe up there.”

She turned down the gas under the gravy to let it simmer, and got out a bowl to make the biscuits. For once, Justin just watched, as though she were a television program, while she mixed the dough and rolled it out, then cut the biscuits with the rim of a water glass and put them in the oven.

“Don't you need a recipe?” he asked when she was done.

“No. I've done this a hundred times. Dat likes biscuits. Even my youngest sister knows how to make them.”

Footsteps thumped on the stairs, and Ginny came bustling in. “How are we doing?”

“The gravy is simmering and the biscuits just went in.”

“Perfect. I'll just do the eggs and we'll be ready. I think everyone could use something to eat and then have another look.”

“No sunglasses?” Justin asked.

“Not yet. But we'll all look again, and if worse comes to worst, I can always mail them to your mother when we find them.”

This plan, however, didn't seem to sit well with Mrs. Parker when she came down to breakfast. “I'm not leaving until I find them, and that's final,” she said around her biscuits and gravy. “What if they get smashed in the mail?”

After breakfast, it was clear that Mr. Parker's plan of leaving by nine wasn't going to work, either. Eric's face lost a little of its tension, but every time the phone rang, he jumped a foot and dashed to the landing so he could listen to Ginny answer it.

Priscilla decided that since everything was upside down, she'd work backward, and begin with dusting the public rooms. After carefully piling Mrs. Parker's quilts in one chair, she dusted the bookcases, woodwork, and picture frames in the front sitting room and in the office, then moved into the family room, where the television was. And for good measure, she took the cushions out of the sofa and all the chairs and brushed them, just in case the sunglasses had fallen down between them.

The Parkers unpacked and repacked their suitcases and took them out to the car, which they turned out as well, looking under everything. Eleven o'clock passed, and Pris thought it would be safe to get started on the bathrooms. If she didn't do something, she wouldn't finish before three o'clock, and what if a walk-in guest came and found her on her knees next to a toilet?

She opened her closet and took out her basket of cleaning supplies. It would be a relief to get something, at least, back in order.

She pulled out a cleaning rag and frowned. It wasn't like Kate Schrock to ball the rags up in the bottom to get mildewy. They always left clean rags for one another. Pris shook it out and something black clattered to the floor.

Sunglasses.

A vein of something sparkly ran along the arms, and
Gucci
was spelled out on one side in what looked like diamonds.