Rebekah's Quilt (4 page)

“I smell cinnamon cake, our favorite,” Annie whispered as the kitchen door opened, releasing a burst of new smells.

Rebekah grinned and pretended to wipe the sides of her mouth.

“
Danke
! Thank you for coming, and for my wonderful gifts,” Rebekah called as Annie, Katie, and their parents climbed into their buggy. They were the last of the guests to leave, besides Joseph, and the sun had long been set. Joseph gave a half-hearted wave from Rebekah’s side before turning his full attention to her. Rebekah thought she heard Katie huff.

“You made a haul! You may well be the most loved girl in Gasthof Village.”

Love?
That funny feeling, sparky, like lightening, coursed through her veins at the mention of the word.

He lifted the last bite of rhubarb pie to his mouth. “Stuffed crust, my favorite!” Tipping his head back, the morsel disappeared.

Rebekah placed one hand on her horribly full stomach. “Mine too, but if I never eat it again, it will be too soon!”

Joseph chuckled. “You know, I wasn’t supposed to say anything, but it was everyone’s idea to make sure you had twenty gifts on your birthday, since you were turning twenty. How many did you wind up with?”

“Counting yours?”

“Of course.”

Rebekah pretended to count even though she already knew the number. “Forty-seven.”

Joseph’s eyes widened. By the light of the oil lamp, they looked robin-egg blue.

“You surely are the most loved girl in the village then!”

“The Lord has blessed me by making sure I am a part of a family and village so generous and caring, I have no doubt about that.”

Joseph’s face broke into a dazzling, dimpled grin.

Like the sun
. In an odd display of forthrightness, words tumbled off her tongue. “But the fishing pole was my favorite.”

Ducking his head, Joseph held up a packet of cheesecloths, tied up with a black ribbon. “Even more than these … well … things?”

Rebekah snatched them playfully. “Cheesecloths!”

Tilting his head down, Joseph stared at her, the ghost of a smile lingering on his lips. Slowly, he took a step toward her.

Longing for even the briefest of brushes from his skin to hers, Rebekah forced herself to remain still. She inhaled deeply in an attempt to still her thundering heart. His sweet, woodsy scent left her head spinning.

“I’m glad you loved your gift,” he whispered. His breath was aromatic, smelling of honey and coffee.

“I loved making it for you.”

Rebekah feared she may melt into a puddle on her family’s sitting room floor. Ever ladylike, she clasped her sweaty hands behind her back.

Bringing his hand up painfully slow, she watched from the corner of her eye as he hesitated, only a moment beside her cheek, before continuing up to touch the brim of his black felt hat.

“Goodnight, sweet Rebekah. And happy, happy birthday.”

CHAPTER TWO

“Rebekah. Rebekah, wake up.” Samuel’s voice came from somewhere in the darkness of her bedroom.

She pushed herself up in her nest of blankets. “Pa?” The musical sound of raindrops on the roof left her uncertain as to whether she was awake, or simply dreaming. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m sorry to wake you, but you have one last birthday gift. Make haste, Daughter.” He picked up his lantern in the hallway and started towards the stairs.

Rebekah flung her legs over the side of her bed and fumbled for her housedress. Dashing into the chilled darkness, she pulled the hand-me-down garment about her shoulders, not bothering with the armholes. Following the bouncing light of her father’s lantern out the front door and across the yard, they soon wound up in the barn.

Quiet bovine breathing filled the dusty expanse.

“What is it, Pa?”

When she reached the far side of the barn, where her father stood smiling, she saw it. A tiny calf, solid black and still wet, lay next to her favorite cow, Cream. Its tiny head bobbled as it tried to look around at its new world.

“Oh Pa, Cream’s had her calf!”

The tiny animal answered with a weak bleat.

Rebekah and her father shared a quiet chuckle.

Samuel knelt by the animal, holding the lantern so they could get a better look. “He’s a she,” he observed. “And
she
needs a name. Would you like to name her?”

Rebekah felt her insides turn to mush as she watched in awe as Cream cleaned her baby.
Oh, what it must feel like to be a mother!

She didn’t have to ponder long. “We have Butter, and Cream,” Rebekah reasoned. “Let’s call this one Buttermilk!”

“I hear there’s a new member of the Stoll family.” Joseph’s voice was a welcome distraction as she sat in the warmth of the barn, quilt and needle in hand. “Isn’t she a little young to learn quilting though?”

Rebekah held up a crooked cornflower blue square. “I need to practice my stitching, but my mind kept wandering to Buttermilk.” She plucked a stalk of hay from her quilting bag. “So I moved out here.”

Joseph eyed her work. “I like the color you’ve chosen. It reminds me of my first quilt.”

Rebekah nodded. “It was a gift from my Ma when you were born, right?”

Joseph squatted next to Buttermilk and nodded. Cream, who had been munching her breakfast, rolled her big brown eyes back to see what he was doing. She let out a low moo.

“What a pretty girl,” he murmured.

Obviously sensing no threat, Cream turned her attention back to her pile of hay as Joseph examined the calf. “Looks like she’s going to have a star.”

Happy to delay her project, Rebekah stuffed the needle and inconsistent pattern into her bag. “All I see is black hair.”

Joseph gestured to a little swirl on the calf’s forehead. Buttermilk kept her velvet eyes trained on him. She exuded innocence.

“Well that hair pattern right there,” he rubbed the swirl with his thumb. The baby bovine closed her eyes.

“Oh Joseph, it looks like she’s smiling!”

“She is.” His half-grin revealed one dimple. “What a good girl.”

He is in his own little world when he is around animals.

A rash of the tingles swept up Rebekah’s arms as she watched Joseph in his element. It seemed that he and the calf were communicating in their own wordless language, both supremely comfortable in the company of the other. Even Cream, who had been more than a little crabby since giving birth, stood idly by as Joseph fawned over her baby.

Joseph is special. For so many reasons.
Before the thought could go on, Rebekah stopped it. “What were you saying about the mark?” Her voice cracked.

“Oh, yes, well you see here, this swirl?”

Rebekah nodded, fumbling with the knot on the end of one of her covering strings. She resisted the urge to stick it in her mouth like she did as a child.

“I’ve seen it once or twice before. Always on cows, never bulls.”

Rebekah smiled down at the calf. “So she is special then.”

“Very much. The swirl turned white all the times I’ve seen it, looking like a star. Or a cross.”

“Maybe I should have named her Angel,” Rebekah whispered into the sudden serenity of the church-like atmosphere.

“
Hallo
Rebekah.
Hallo
Joseph.” Samuel strode in the barn, planks of newly shaved wood tucked under his arm. He carried the wood as easily as if he were merely toting a loaf of bread.

“
Hallo
Pa.”

Joseph waved. “Mr. Stoll.”

“You’ve been cutting wood?” Rebekah asked.

“
Ja
, an Englishman is here, needing a wheel for his
wagen
.”

With the mention of the English, a sea of uneasiness rolled in Rebekah’s stomach. Even Joseph stiffened. She rose, her eyes trained on her Pa.

“Pa, an Englishman is here? Now?” She kept her already meek voice at a whisper.

“
Ja
, the man from Montgomery sent him.”

A long shadow appeared on the ground outside the barn, concealing the identity of the owner. “Lester at the livery claimed the only place to get quality wood work done was by a feller out here by the name of Stoll. Samuel Stoll.” With a jingle, the stranger stepped into the patch of sun framed by the barn’s door. “I’m Peter O’Leary.” His voice was deep and coarse. He towered over Samuel, who stood, grinning, next to him.

The sun glinted off the two tinkling silver stars that stuck off the backs of his boots.

“
Hallo
,” said Rebekah and Joseph in unison.

She let her eyes roam over the stranger, taking no qualms at subtlety. Tufts of straw-colored hair stuck out from under his black hat, which was cocked over one eye in a decent attempt at covering a vertical scar that ran through his eyebrow. His stormy green eyes stared back at her from his stubbly face, revealing no emotion. He neither smiled nor frowned.

“Does your family await your return in Montgomery?” The sudden sound of Joseph’s voice made her jump.

Peter flipped back his duster, revealing two shining pistols, one held in place on each of his hips by a gleaming black belt.

“Family?” He spat on the dusty barn floor and shifted his weight, causing the silver stars to clink again. “Ain’t got none waitin’, least not in Montgomery.”

Rebekah cocked an eyebrow before she could help herself.
The manners of the English haven’t improved much since rumspringa.

Samuel turned and studied his wood planks. “How far will you be going on this wheel?” He ran his hand over his thick, black beard. It looked to Rebekah as though he were doing mental calculations, a subject she hadn’t excelled in during her school years. She could have puzzled over a problem six days out of the week, only to come up with a supremely absurd answer. Penmanship had been her niche.

Peter brushed at his nose with one finger. “Well sir, I’m hopin’ to go as far as Philadelphia.”

“Ah,
ja
. That is quite a ways. The wheel I will build you will carry you to Philadelphia.”

Peter stared at Rebekah though he spoke to Samuel. “When should I return for it?”

Joseph, who had been hovering at her elbow since Peter’s arrival, turned to Cream and Buttermilk. The calf had begun to make tiny bleating noises.

“She’s hungry,” Joseph muttered, mostly to himself. Leaning, he grasped Cream’s lead rope. “Come on, Mama,” he urged the sleepy cow, “Let’s get you up so your baby can eat.”

Peter scratched his nose again. “Mr. Stoll?”

“Hm?” Her Pa had already started work on the wheel. Whenever he worked with wood, his mind was so focused that evening could turn to night without him realizing it. “Oh yes, Peter please, make yourself at home. I will have your wheel this afternoon.”

“Much obliged.” He touched the tip of his hat. “Miss, might you be able to show me to the watering hole?”

The weight of his stare was heavy upon her shoulders, but Rebekah managed a slight nod. “
Ja
. Excuse me a moment.”

Rebekah knelt and scooped up her quilting bag as she uttered the soft words she knew only Joseph would hear. “Please,
komm mit mir.”

Joseph’s whispers, which were probably mistaken by Peter as simply the blowing of the Indiana breeze through the barn loft, answered, “Of course I will come with you.”

Brushing past Peter, Rebekah carried her quilting supplies in trembling hands. Something about the way the strange Englishman had looked at her sent a cold drop of fear slivering down her backbone.

After she stowed her kit safely in her quilting room, Rebekah allowed herself a quick peek out the window overlooking the yard. There Peter and Joseph stood, not speaking or even looking at one another. The differences between the two men in her yard were like flour and salt. The moon and the sun. The English and the Amish.

Adjusting her covering and straightening the deep purple cape over her dress, Rebekah hurried down the steps, slowing before she stepped back out into the chilly sunshine.

“Shall we find that watering hole?”