Pennsylvania Patchwork (23 page)

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Esther heard Holly calling her from the first floor.

“We're up in the attic,” Esther shouted. She listened to Holly's footsteps ascending the staircase, then watched her daughter's head come into view as Holly climbed the ladder.

“Both of you are in the attic?” Holly poked her head through the rectangular opening. “Mommy Anna, what are you doing up there?”

“Did ya forget about our treasure hunt?” Flashlight in hand, Mamm minced her way toward Holly.

“I remember,” Holly said. “Please be careful.”

“Yah, Mamm.” Esther grasped hold of Mamm's elbow.

“How did Mommy Anna ever get up there?” Holly asked.

“A lot of gumption,” Esther said. “I'm glad you're home. Would ya catch these?” Esther tossed the two aprons to Holly, who nabbed them.

“Cool,” Holly said. “These aprons look almost new.”

“Now, could ya help your grandmother down the stepladder?” Esther asked.

“I've been in the attic many a time.” Mamm flicked off her flashlight and dropped it in her apron pocket. “Quit your fussing.”

Esther bet her mother hadn't been up in this cramped, dusky space for many years, but no use arguing with a woman suffering from memory problems. Esther shone her flashlight on the floor to illuminate Mamm's path. “Can you see okay?”

Mamm's squinty eyes and lips stretched to a thin line revealed dismay. “Feet first?” she asked Esther.

“Yah. Holly's right there to assist you.” Esther helped Mamm grope her way through the opening, then Mamm dangled her toes until they landed on a step.

“Take it slowly,” Esther said.

“I know what I'm doing.” Mamm sounded tetchy.

Holly descended in tandem to Mamm—right behind her—arms out, until Mamm's feet finally touched the hallway's wooden floor.

“Did you find the stash of quilting fabric?” Holly asked.

“Nee, but we found those aprons and an old tin bread box,” Mamm said.

“I'll bring it down later.” Esther felt obligated to let Holly know Jeremiah had written, but wished to peruse the letters first. If the pages held inflammatory statements, she should warn her daughter. Jeremiah seemed to harbor no further resentment toward Esther, except when it came to the doll. His wife, Beatrice, was another story.

Esther slid the tin bread box near the opening, but out of sight. Glad to have her hands free, she followed them, and left the ladder in place. “Holly, I'll bring down the bread box after you try on your new dress.”

“Wow, you've already sewed it?” Holly said.

“It just needs hemming.”

“Mom, you're amazing.”

“
Denki
. I enjoyed myself. In fact, I got more satisfaction finishing one plain dress than working all day at the Amish Shoppe.” As she sewed, Esther had decided she was done laboring behind a cash register forever. “Last week, I was tinkering with the idea of visiting Dori in Seattle to see how she's doing with the Amish Shoppe, but I have no desire to fly. I hated that bumpy ride, not to mention the nerve-wracking security lines. And taking the bus or train would take too long.”

“Don't ya ever go back.” With icy fingers, Mamm clutched Esther's hand. “Let your friend come visit you here,” Mamm said. “What would the bishop think?”

Esther's other hand covered Mamm's. “No matter what happens, I won't leave you again,” Esther said. A lump inflated in her throat as her thoughts wended back to Nathaniel. She felt like a woman wandering in a foggy valley, no tangible road mark or horizon in sight.

“Those aprons should fit you, Holly.” Mamm took one and held it up for viewing.

“I could wash it right away,” Esther said.

“It looks new,” Holly said. “I can wear it as is for now.”

“First you need to try on the dress for your mother.” Mamm clapped her hands. “I can hardly wait ta see you.”

Esther strode to the staircase. “Hold on to the banister, Mamm,” Esther instructed. The three descended, with Holly supporting Mamm's waist.

“Are you losing weight, Mommy Anna?” Holly asked.

“Not intentionally. Not with all your mother's gut cooking.”

“Yah, I think you're thinner.” Esther noticed Mamm's double chin had shrunk. Weight loss was one of the signs of hyperparathyroidism, according to Dr. Brewster.

In the sitting room, Holly headed to the chair next to the sewing machine and scooped up the dress. “I love this blue color, like a cornflower.”

Esther felt a round of jitters hoping Holly would like it—and also wondering if her daughter should be dressing Amish at all. In retrospect, she should have sewed her own dress first.

Holly dashed out of the room, and returned wearing the dress. “It's a perfect fit, Mom. Thanks!”

“Let me measure the length again while you've got it on,” Esther said. “Won't take but twenty minutes to iron and hem it, and I'll be done.”

“Don't make it too short.” Mamm wagged a finger.

“No worries,” Holly said. “My mother won't make it a miniskirt. At least she never would when I was a teen.” She gave Esther a quick hug. “I apologize, Mom. I was a regular little brat when you sewed clothes for me.”

“No matter, Holly. You were young and imagining everyone in the world was watching you. Seems we women spend far too much time worrying about what others think of us.” Esther realized she'd been guilty of this transgression. Comparing herself to Lizzie, of all silly things.

“Holly looks so
lieblich
every unmarried Amishman in the county will want to court her,” Mamm said.

“Thanks, Mommy Anna,” Holly said, “but before we proceed, I want to make sure you're still intending on following through with the surgery.”

“Uh, yah, I s'pose …”

“I'm not going one step further unless you promise me.”

“Yah, I will. But I wonder if I should ask the bishop or the deacon. I wish my Isaac were here.”

Esther was glad her strict brother Isaac, a minister, chosen by lot for a lifetime, was not around to put the kibosh on Mamm's surgery. His attitude toward their mother—that she was old so why attempt to extend her life?—exasperated Esther.

While they spoke, Esther pinned the hem at midcalf, and then, after Holly slipped the dress off, Esther ironed and hand-stitched the hem.

While she worked, Mamm showed Holly how to fastidiously part her hair down the middle and tame her wavy tresses with bobby pins, pulling it into a small bun. “Now, don't ya cut your hair,” Mamm said.

“You mean in the next five minutes?”

Mamm clucked. “I mean for as long as you're wearing a Kapp. Wait here and I'll fetch one.” She shuffled into the Daadi Haus, returned with a clean, pressed Kapp, and crowned Holly's head.

“I shudder to think what I look like.” Holly patted her head, then gently tugged on the strings.

Esther glanced up from her sewing to see the majority of Holly's gorgeous hair was hidden. Esther was under the impression Holly considered her thick wavy hair her best attribute. What would she think when she caught sight of herself in a mirror?

Mamm straightened Holly's Kapp. “Ya couldn't look better.”

“Should I tie the strings?” Holly twirled them.

“Most of the young women don't, but if the bishop pays us a visit it wouldn't hurt.” Mamm reached up to straighten her own Kapp. “Ach, mine have come undone.” Her fingers fumbled to knot the strings, then she gave up.

Minutes later Esther said, “Here you go.” She handed the dress to Holly with a flourish.

Holly stepped into another room and waltzed back wearing it. “I want to use one of the aprons when I go over to Nathaniel's to see if Rascal's returned.” She brought an apron to her nose and gave it a sniff. “Not too musty. I'll shake it out first, then pin it on. I hope I don't stab myself.”

“I need to practice too.” Esther motioned to the couch. “Mamm, this would be a perfect time to put your feet up.”

Mamm sidled up to it and melted onto the cushions. “Guess I am a wee bit tired.” She closed her eyes, held her breath for a moment, then relaxed into slumber.

“Mom,” Holly said, “you have an anxious expression on your face. Don't I have this dress and apron on right?”

“Yes, you look just fine.” Still, Esther wondered if she was influencing Holly too much.

“I'm dressing this way for a week only,” Holly said, as if anticipating Esther's thoughts. “Although I might check out the Amish church. If you're joining it, it's got to be okay.”

“My circumstances are far different from yours. I never learned to drive an automobile or owned a cell phone, although caving in to the temptation to use it is something I'll have to confess. And I'm grateful Larry owns a car. If I have these many internal struggles, what would it be like for you?” Esther wrung her hands. “Holly, now you look
drauerich
—sad in your face. Are ya regretting your agreement to dress Amish? You can change your mind.”

“No, it's not that.”

“Is it Zach? How did your time with him go?”

“The puppies are darling and Beth was civil. But on the way home, Zach was sullen when I suggested we swing by to ask Armin if Rascal had returned, so I said never mind, I'll walk over there myself.” She pulled the prayer cap strings down and crossed them under her chin. “Any phone calls while I was gone?”

“Not yet.”

Please bring Nathaniel home, Esther pleaded with the Almighty in her mind. If it's your will. I won't hold it against you if it isn't, but I'd be ever so grateful.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Hiking over to Nathaniel's, I felt
naerfich
—nervous—about seeing Armin dressed as I was.

Hey, I thought a word in Pennsylvania Dutch! How nifty was that? Proof I could learn the language of my forefathers whether I joined the church or not. Mommy Anna would be overjoyed.

I saw Armin next to the barn tying up Nathaniel's Holstein bull—the giant animal mostly black, save his white feet. It let out a snort as I neared them.

Armin turned to me. “Don't come any closer.” His eyebrows lifted, Armin stared at my dress and apron, then his gaze fastened onto my prayer cap, its strings fluttering in the breeze.

I wouldn't take offense. Of course Armin would be surprised by the new me. “That bull looks like he belongs in a state fair,” I said.

“He weighs over a ton. Don't ya ever get near him.” Armin checked to make sure the bull was securely fastened. “He has his friendly days when you'll almost trust him, but the next minute he might gore you through.”

I took a baby step closer.

“Stop, I ain't kidding!” Armin's hand jutted out, as if directing traffic. “I don't know why my brother keeps such a beast when he gets better offspring from artificial insemination. Nathaniel should have had him polled—his horns removed.” They did look like lethal skewers.

I thought instead of talking about bovine propagation, Armin would rush over to me when he was finished securing the bull, but he stayed put. Was he deadly serious about protecting me or trying to maintain distance between us?

“
Wie
geht's
?” he finally said. He'd switched back to his usual work boots, and a smear of mud marred the front of his trousers.

“I came over to see if Rascal had returned.”

“Not yet. Maybe he found some swanky Englisch mansion where they serve prime rib.” Armin's cavalier attitude struck me as false. He seemed too blasé, an act for my benefit so I wouldn't fear the worst.

“I hope so.” I couldn't shake a premonition Rascal was lost or injured. “Any more reports of sheep or goats being attacked?”

“Not that I know of.”

I did a pirouette to show off my dress and apron; the fabric swished around my legs, reassuring me. “Well, how do I look?”

“Fine.”

“Come on, Armin.” I batted my eyelashes. “What do you think?”

“You look gut.”

“But evidently not irresistible.”

“Ya look as
schee
—pretty—as the day we met.”

A new reality stuck into me like an ill-placed pin at my waist. “Are you worried I'll join the Amish church as you suggested?”

“Why would I be?”

“Because I'd be available for you to court when and if you get baptized. Meaning you wouldn't be attracted to me anymore.”

“I never said that.” He straightened his hat, pulled down on the brim. “I like ya as much as ever. You caught me off guard, that's all.”

I finally understood Nathaniel's vexation with his flip-floppy little brother. “Do you only want what you can't have, Armin?”

He let out a puff of air. “I was fixing ta stay right here on this farm, but now, what with Nathaniel either marrying Esther or his wife coming home, I don't know. I've gotten mighty used to doing things my own way.” He moved toward me until we were a couple feet apart. I had to raise my chin to look into his face. He certainly was easy on the eyes, and I enjoyed Armin's witticisms—his
joie de vivre
. But I didn't want a lifetime of second-guessing this unpredictable fellow, who was too full of himself.

“Only someone brought up Amish would understand what I'm going through.” He shifted his weight back and forth. “The finality of getting baptized. I've kept putting it off. If I do there's no turning back.”

“Same with marriage, right?”

“Yah, especially if you're baptized Amish. Look what my brother's going through.” Armin's hands skated up and down his suspenders. “You haven't heard from Nathaniel, have you?”

I marveled at his capacity to dodge the subject. “No, and I left my phone with my mother. Which is where I should be—helping her.” I felt sorry for Armin, losing his dog—his best buddy. But at this moment I found his attitude toward me aggravating at best.

The bull pawed the ground, then lowered his massive head and bellowed.

“I've got chores ta do before milking.” Armin angled his torso toward the barn.

I felt rejected. “Well, then, good-bye.” I spun on my heels and marched across the barnyard and around the house. Striding along the path at the side of the road toward home, I recognized Zach's pickup headed my direction. It pulled off and stopped.

Zach lowered his passenger side window. “Is that you, Holly Fisher?”

“The one and only.” I curtsied.

“I almost didn't recognize you. Want a ride?”

Conflicting thoughts reverberated in my mind. “You'd let me in your pickup dressed like this?”

“I'd be honored. Hop in.”

I opened the door and climbed aboard. “Thanks, I should have worn a jacket.” He cranked the heater up and I felt warmth bathing my legs.

“As an incentive, I'm dressing this way for at least a week, or until Mommy Anna has her surgery. And I might attend her church service Sunday.”

“You could come with me to mine again.” He accelerated the engine, conveying us away from my grandmother's farm.

Leaning against the seatback, I felt a pin sticking into my midriff. I relocated it. Okay, I didn't have the art of fastening the straight pins down pat, but would by the end of the week.

“You wouldn't be embarrassed taking me to church dressed like this?” I pulled down the mirror on the back of the sun visor and felt a moment's grief for the loss of my hair.

“Never.”

“What if people ogle?”

“They won't. You've been to our church. All are welcome.”

We passed several farms and fields, then motored through a forested area. I cracked the window and breathed in the rich essence of pine needles, and fallen maple and oak leaves mulching into the soil. “Where are we going?” I asked.

“Anywhere you'd like.”

“Where do you live?”

He chuckled. “Is that your way of asking to see my humble abode? I didn't know if you'd think it proper for me to invite you.”

“In this day and age?”

“You're the woman I want to impress, but it seems most everything I do goes wrong.” His grip tightened on the wheel. “Would you like to see my house?”

“Is it far away? I need to get home pretty soon.”

“Just down in Gordonville—five minutes.”

As he drove, he waved at several other motorists and an Amishman driving a horse and buggy. He pulled into the driveway of a modest buttermilk-yellow one-story home with black shutters on its two front windows. A carport extended from what must be the entrance to the kitchen, but when we got out he led me around to the front door, painted cherry-red—a nice touch I hadn't expected.

He removed his jacket and draped it over my shoulders. I viewed the small and nicely clipped lawn. Evergreen shrubs obscured homes on either side, and a Japanese maple tree, still clinging to its garnet-red leaves, stood next to the carport.

“You live here by yourself?” I asked.

“Yes, I do. Never had a housemate.” I assumed he'd disclosed that tidbit to quell my reservations about Victoria. “My folks invite me over a lot, and I usually accept,” he said. “Who likes to sit home alone?”

“But soon you'll have a wiggly puppy to keep you company.”

“Yes, and I hope a new bride. You, Holly.” He escorted me to the door.

I turned to him and said, “You'd want to marry into my oddball family? If Mom and Nathaniel get together, Armin and you will be related.”

One corner of his mouth hinted at a grin. “You'd want to marry into mine? My mother would be your mother-in-law.”

“Don't think I haven't thought of that.” Not a tactful remark, but I figured bare-bones truth was essential.

He maneuvered the key into the brass lock and swung open the door.

“Please, come in to what I hope will be your future home.”

Ahead lay a beige-carpeted living room with a brick fireplace, built-in bookshelves standing on either side, a velour couch, and a matching loveseat. A coffee table displayed several magazines, having to do with veterinary medicine, and yesterday's newspaper, unopened. Above the fireplace hung a framed photograph of an Amish farm. A nice room with potential—in need of a woman's touch.

“It's beautiful,” I said, “but I don't like sitting at home alone, either.”

“Yes, I work too much. That's why I need to block out three weeks on my calendar, time to get married and take a honeymoon.”

“How will you manage?”

“I called an old friend, a retired veterinarian, who said he'll fill in for me. He claims he's been bored stiff since he sold his practice five years ago.” Zach's hand rose to the nape of my neck; his fingers traced the bottom edge of my prayer cap. I thought he'd suggest I remove it, but instead he straightened the strings. “If you could travel anywhere on our honeymoon, where would it be?”

In my mind, tropical paradises enticed me, but I stayed practical. “I can't go anywhere until Mommy Anna has her surgery.”

“Understandable. Plus, we'd want her to attend the ceremony.”

“Wait a minute, this conversation is galloping along too quickly.”

“I thought you said I was moving too slowly.” Zach plopped down on the couch.

“Well, you were.” I pointed to my left hand. “No date and ring.” I sank down next to him; the cushions were spongy and comfortable.

He moved closer, gingerly—I assumed to avoid the pins. “But you decided you didn't want a glitzy engagement ring,” he said.

“True, but there's no reason not to choose wedding bands, if you're serious.”

His arm reached around behind me and he kissed me tenderly. But I would not allow myself to tumble into the abyss until I knew for sure he loved me.

I leaned away from him, gazed into his luminous eyes, and tried to interpret what lay behind them. We sat there for a moment, until he blinked and withdrew his arm.

“I'd better get you home.” He let out a wistful sigh. “Your mother will be worried.”

“Okay.” I took a last look-see around the pleasant living room I might never see again.

“Or how about you and I go out to dinner instead?” He got to his feet. “Just the two of us. If your mother still has your cell phone you can call her from here.”

Not wanting to part yet, I agreed.