Lorie's Heart (14 page)

Lorie let herself into the storeroom and cautiously closed the door behind her. She hadn't been up here in weeks, but the urge to paint grew so strong she had to give in. She uncovered the last canvas she had been working on and stared at the painting. She didn't know why she did this. Her paintings didn't look like what she had painted. More like a bright, childlike version with thick swatches of paint and slightly off dimensions.

Yet as horrible as they were, she still had the urge, the uncontrollable drive to sneak away from all that she knew to be good and true to come up here and create. She supposed in that way she was a lot like Daniel and a thousand other children who couldn't reproduce an exact image of what they drew and instead did the best they could. Their parents and teachers oohed and aahed over their efforts and that was that.

She retrieved the cutting board she used to hold her paints and the shirt she wore to protect her clothes.

So if she had no true talent, why did she feel it necessary to make all these pictures? Why did God give her the desire to paint if the effort would only hurt those around her?

Maybe this desire wasn't from God but from the devil himself.

No. She didn't believe that. She couldn't believe that.

And then there were the letters. Just another reason she had avoided the storeroom as long as possible. As much as she wanted to read every word her father had left for her, she couldn't. She had read the first ten or so letters, then put them aside. She hadn't discovered her grandmother's and her father's secrets. But if he would keep those from her what wouldn't he hide? What if Caroline and Emily were right? She couldn't go back and forget everything she had found out already but she could stop herself from learning more. Betty held the key to the secrets, but with her mixed up thoughts, Lorie didn't know whether what she said was the truth or the truth only in her mind.

And leprechaun pudding.

Lorie dipped her flat, broad brush into the green paint and added it to the canvas. Why did it seem so familiar?

Maybe it was something she and her father had before her mother died. Maybe the recipe was in among the letters her father had sent Betty.

Lorie looked toward the box. She said she wasn't going to go through them all. What good would it do anyway? Of the letters she'd read, only one of them had any significance and even that was vague at best.

But if it held the secret to leprechaun pudding, she could pass the information along to the head cook at the center. And Betty would be so happy. If she truly remembered what leprechaun pudding was. Who knew? Leprechaun pudding could be something she had made up entirely in her own head.

Lorie stepped back from the painting and studied it with a critical eye. It was bright, as bright as the sun catchers the seniors were making on one of her visits. Splashes of green, royal blue, and orange made up the angled lines of his face. Zach.

She shook her head. A bad remembrance of Zach, but even if she could paint like
Englisch
photographs she would never be able to capture the mischievous gleam in his pale blue eyes or the handsome slant of his chin. It was probably better this way. She sighed and looked back to the box of letters.

Maybe there was something beneficial in there. A recipe. A photograph. A mention of something that would lead her down the right path.

She rinsed out her paintbrush in the jar of solvent and glanced back over to the box.

What would it hurt if she read a couple more? After all, she had promised to take them back to Betty once she had finished reading them. If she wasn't going to read them, then they needed to go.

She wiped her hands on an old rag and looked back to the painting. She had a little while before it would be dry enough to hide away.

She gave the painting one last look, then sat on the floor and pulled the box into her lap. Just a few wouldn't hurt anything. Lorie pulled a letter from the stack and started to read.

“I think I know what it is,” Lorie said as she slid into the passenger's seat of Zach's car.

“Hello to you, too.”

“Sorry. I'm just excited.”

“I can tell.” There was that smile again, the one that made her heart flutter even though it shouldn't.

“Hi, Zach. I think I know what leprechaun pudding is.”

“Really?” He put the car into gear and started down the road.

Lorie wasted no time pulling off her prayer
kapp
and carefully laying it in the backseat. No sense in having a repeat of the prayer
kapp
debacle. She pulled the pins from her hair and ran her fingers through it to pull out the crimps.

The car slowed and she turned to Zach. “Everything okay?”

He swallowed hard and nodded. “Sure.” The car sped back up to a normal speed, and they were on their way.

“So what is leprechaun pudding?”

She turned in her seat to look at him as he drove them down the highway. “I looked through some of the letters that my father sent to Betty, and I found a recipe for a lime and mint breakfast pudding.”

He made a face. “Lime and mint pudding?”

“It's better than you think.”

His frown deepened. “You've eaten this?”

“Of course.”

He shook his head. “To each his own, I guess.”

“Do you think the cook will make it for Betty?”

“I'm sure she will.”

They drove to the gas station where she had changed clothes before. Zach waited in the car for her while she dressed in her
Englisch
clothes. Then she ran back out to meet him, and they were on their way again.

Carol and Amber at the front desk didn't bat an eye when they walked in together. Carol was on the phone and managed a quick smile and wave before turning her attention back to what the person on the other end of the line was saying. Amber smiled as well, as if she had a secret bigger than the one they had. Then she ducked her head and pretended to be filing papers.

“Everyone should be in the rec room,” he said, leading her through the hallways.

She pulled him to a stop outside the rec room door. “Zach,” she started, “I just wanted to thank you for bringing me. I mean, it is your day off.”

“It's my pleasure.”

“It still means a lot to me.”

He nodded toward the group of seniors that gathered at table eight. “It means a lot to them, too.”

The seniors caught sight of them and waved.

“Zach and Lorie are here,” she heard someone exclaim. She thought it was Eugene.

“Come on.” He grabbed her hand and led her into the room.

After a robust round of greetings, Zach and Lorie sat down and helped them make some sort of braided bracelets that he referred to as friendship bracelets.

“I don't know why they have us doing stuff like this. It's near impossible with my stiff fingers,” Stan groused.

“Hush,” Fern reprimanded. “It's good for your joints.”

“I don't see how. Makes me feel like a durned fool.”

“Amen to that,” Eugene bellowed.

“Oh, don't you start in, too.” Linda sighed heavily.

Lorie shot a smile at Zach. He returned it and went back to helping Betty with her purple-and-green creation.

“I think it should have some red, don't you, Billy?”

“Zach,” he corrected.

“Of course.” She released the string to pat her perfect hair back into place.

“What are we doing with these again?” Fern asked.

“Cancer hospital,” Eugene hollered.

“That's a good idea,” Betty said. “Then it definitely needs a splash of red. It's such a cheery color. Don't you think so, dear?” She looked to Lorie for backup.

She wasn't sure what to say. Red was one of those colors that the Amish didn't wear very often, if at all. Their colors tended more toward blues, purples, and greens, but she supposed red was a nice enough color.

She must have taken too long to answer for Betty shook her head. “You probably don't wear red, being Amish and all.” She said the words as offhanded as one would comment about the weather.

Lorie looked to Zach. He merely shrugged and went back to his braiding, but she caught a small glimpse of his smile before he hid it from view.

Thankfully, no one said any more about the color red or being Amish.

“Are you ready to go to lunch?” Stan stood and looked around the table at his companions.

Lorie hadn't realized so much time had passed. But a break for lunch would be the perfect time to ask the cook about the leprechaun pudding. “Sure.”

They stood and started gathering up their craft supplies. Each one of them placed their bracelet in the basket of completed ones that would be taken to the cancer hospital and distributed among the younger patients.

Zach grabbed her hand before she could walk out with the others. “Just a sec,” he said, turning her hand over in his.

She met his gaze as he took the bracelet he'd made and placed it around her wrist.

“This is for you,” he said, looking away so he could tie the braided strings.

“For me?” Amish didn't wear bracelets. But he had made this especially for her. It was more about friendship and less about vanity. What could be the harm in that?

He finished tying the strings and released her hand. “You're supposed to wear it until it falls off, then you make a wish and it'll come true.”

She looked at the bright bracelet and back to him. “Are you serious?”

“About wearing it until it falls off? Yes. About your wish coming true?” He shrugged. “That theory has never been proven either way.”

She smiled. It might be a strange custom, but she liked it. Or maybe what she liked best was that he had made it for her.

“Come on,” he said, taking her hand into his. “Let's go get in line before all the mac and cheese is gone.”

Lorie and Zach got into line and waited to get their food and talk to the cook. Mabel, the head chef, promised to make the breakfast pudding for Betty. Of course, Lorie had to promise to bring Mabel a jar of the Kauffman sourdough starter and a starter of friendship bread.

“What's friendship bread?” Zach asked as they grabbed their trays and headed for the table where the others had already gathered.

“It's a bread starter, like the sourdough but with yeast. And it's a sweet bread,” she added. “It's passed on from person to person. I'll give her the starter, and she'll feed it for ten days.”

“Feed it? How exactly does one feed bread?”

Lorie laughed. “She'll add ingredients for ten days, milk, flour, sugar.”

He nodded as if he understood, so she continued.

“Then once she's reached her ten days, she'll separate the starter and share it with a friend.”

“Who will feed her starter for ten days.”

“Exactly.”

He smiled and nodded. “That's a nice custom.”

“Darn tootin',” Stan said. “It's some good bread, too.”

“I imagine Mabel won't share since she has to feed so many of us,” Linda mused.

Lorie hadn't thought of that. Maybe when she came back next week she would bring a couple of starters. That way they would have plenty.

The conversation died down a bit as everyone began to eat.

Lorie tried not to stare as Zach interacted with the seniors, helping them remember events of the past week, listening to their stories, and even cutting Stan's meat when he got frustrated with the dull knife he'd gotten.

“Don't know how anyone can expect a man to cut a piece of meat with a butter knife.”

“It's not a butter knife,” Fern countered.

“Might as well be,” Stan groused. “I have to have someone cut my meat like a toddler.”

“I don't think toddlers eat meat that needs to be cut,” Linda countered.

“How do you know?” Eugene asked. “You never had any little ones.”

“I cut your meat often enough,” she countered.

Eugene snorted, but otherwise didn't comment.

Betty hid her smile and a snicker behind her hand. Zach kept on cutting Stan's meat without a pause. It was as if he was immune to their bickering. Or perhaps that was just part of his makeup, part of what made Zach Zach.

She braced her chin in her hand and gave him a long look.

“What?” he asked.

“You're not at all what I thought
Englisch
boys would be like.”

“Oh yeah, how was that?”

“Self-centered and up to no good.”

“Wow, there's a stereotype.”

Her cheeks filled with heat. “In their defense, our
eldra
are just trying to protect us.”

“Do you think you need protection from me?”

“
Nay,
” she said without hesitation.

His eyes darkened until they were almost the color of the twilight sky.

A thick moment passed between them, then he cleared his throat and looked away.

“I never asked you how you and I managed to have the same day off,” she said, feeling a change in subject was in order.

He shot her a sheepish grin. “I traded with someone.”

“You did?”

“Yeah.”

If she wasn't mistaken, the pink color rising up his neck was a blush. The thought that he could be embarrassed over her. Well, it was thrilling.

She looked back to the helping of macaroni and cheese on her plate, aware that everyone had stopped eating to stare at the two of them.

She wanted to ask him how he felt coming to work when he was off to allow her time to spend time with her grandmother. Even when he didn't get paid.

But she ducked her head over her plate and let the subject drop.

 

 

They stayed at the center through lunch. Afterward the seniors all begged off any more activities in favor of taking a nap.

Zach led Lorie through the center and out into the summer sun.

“What would you like to do?” he asked, walking her toward his car.

“I guess I thought I would go home.” A small frown puckered her forehead. Zach longed to reach up and smooth it away. Not because he didn't like it, but he could use an excuse to touch her.

“It's still early,” he said. “We could go over to the park and take a walk. We don't really have time for the aquarium or the zoo. How about a movie?”

“A movie?”

“Sure. Why not?”

She paused as if thinking it over.

“Have you ever been to a movie before?”

She shook her head, her hair swinging from side to side releasing its intoxicating fragrance.

Whoa. He had it bad. Not that he could do anything about it. Not that he
would
do anything about it. Friends. Just friends. That was what they'd agreed to. That was what they'd be.

“Is that against the rules?” he asked.

“Well, I mean,” she stammered.

“I'll take that as a yes. Do you have anything that you'd like to do?”

“A walk sounds nice.”

Zach smiled. “A walk it is.”

Fifteen minutes later he parked his car near the Arkansas River and got out. Lorie followed suit and stared at the running water in front of them.

The Arkansas wasn't a big river, but it cut through Tulsa, lending its beauty to the town.

He took her hand and steered her down the asphalt path that ran through the park. “I used to love to come out here when I was younger,” he said, wondering where the words had come from. He hadn't thought about all those years ago in a long time.

“With your
mamm?
”

“My dad.”

She tilted her head to one side, and Zach couldn't help but see that it was the perfect angle for him to swoop in and steal a kiss. “You never mention your
dat.
”

He hated that he brought it up. There was nothing but painful memories. He shrugged it off. “It's a great place to ride a bike.” As if to prove his statement, a biker whizzed past.

“I love to ride bikes.”

“You do? That's not against the rules?”

“It's called the
Ordnung,
and no, it's not.”

“Maybe we can bring our bikes here and ride one afternoon.”

She smiled, and he swore the world grew a little brighter. “I would like that very much.”

They made their way past the statue of the mountain lion and the hawk, then found a bench to rest a bit before heading back to the car.

“So the
Ordnung,
” he started, wanting to learn more about the rules that she followed. “It tells you everything?” He knew he butchered the pronunciation of the word, but she didn't correct him.

“Not everything. Some things are understood.”

“Like?”

“Wearing black when in mourning. Staying in mourning for a year. Which Sunday we go to church. Things like that.”

“You don't go to church every Sunday?”

“Every other one.”

“What about this Sunday?” he asked, an idea dawning.

“This is a non-church Sunday.”

“Do you think you could come here?”

“To the park?”

“To Tulsa.”

“I don't know,” she started slowly. “Sometimes we go visiting.”

“I understand. I just thought it would be fun. I thought maybe we could go to my church, then spend a little time with Betty. Or we could come back out here for a bike ride. Or catch a movie.” Anything she wanted to do as long as she spent time with him.