Sisters of the Quilt Trilogy (111 page)
Read Sisters of the Quilt Trilogy Online
Authors: Cindy Woodsmall
One
Twenty years later
Sunlight streamed through the bar’s dirty windows as the lunch crowd filled the place. Cara set two bottles of beer on the table in front of the familiar faces.
The regulars knew the rules: all alcoholic drinks were paid for upon delivery. One of the men held a five-dollar bill toward her but kept his eyes on the television. The other took a long drink while he slid a hundred-dollar bill across the table.
She stared at the bill, her heart pounding with desire. If earning money as a waitress wasn’t hard enough, Mac kept most of their tips. The money the customer slid across the table wasn’t just cash but power. It held the ability for her to fix Lori something besides boiled potatoes next week and to buy her a pair of shoes that didn’t pinch her feet.
Would the customer even notice if I shortchanged him from such a large amount?
Lines of honesty were often blurred by desperation. Cara loathed that she couldn’t apply for government help and that she had to uproot every few months to stay a few steps ahead of a maniac. Moving always cost money. Fresh security deposits on ever-increasing rents. Working time lost as she searched for another job—each one more pathetic than the one before it. Mike had managed to steal everything from her but mere existence. And her daughter.
“I’ll get your change.”
All of it
. She took the money.
“Cara.” Mac’s gruff voice sailed across the room. From behind the bar he motioned for her. “Phone!” He shook the receiver at her. “Kendal says it’s an emergency.”
Every sound echoing inside the wooden-and-glass room ceased. She hurried toward him, snaking around tables filled with people.
“Keep it short.” Mac passed the phone to her and returned to serving customers.
“Kendal, what’s wrong?”
“He found us.” Her friend’s usually icy voice shook, and Cara knew she was more frightened than she’d been the other times.
How could he after all we’ve done to hide?
“We got a letter at our new place?”
“No. Worse.” Kendal’s words quaked. “He was here. Broke the lock and came inside looking for you. He ransacked the place.”
“He what?”
“He’s getting meaner, Cara. He ripped open all the cushions, turned mattresses, emptied drawers and boxes. He found your leather book and … and insisted I stay while he made himself at home and read through it.”
“We’ve got to call the police.”
“You know we can’t.” Kendal dropped the sentence, and Cara heard her crying.
They both knew that going to the police would be a mistake neither of them would survive.
One of the waitresses plunked a tray of dirty dishes onto the counter. “Get off the phone, princess.”
Cara plugged her index finger into her ear, trying desperately to think. “Where’s Lori?”
“I’m sure they moved her to after-school care.” Through the phone line Cara heard a car door slam. They didn’t own a car.
A male voice asked, “Where to?”
Cara gripped the phone tighter. “What’s going on?”
Kendal sobbed. “I’m sorry. I can’t take this anymore. All we do is live in fear and move from one part of New York to another. He’s … he’s not after me.”
“You know he’s trying to isolate me from everyone. Please, Kendal.”
“I … I’m sorry. I can’t help you anymore,” Kendal whispered. “The cab’s waiting.”
Disbelief settled over her. “How long ago did he break in?”
From behind Cara a shadow fell across the bar, engulfing her. “Hi, Care Bear.”
She froze. Watching the silhouette, she noted how tiny she was in comparison.
Mike’s thick hand thudded a book onto the bar beside her. He removed his hand, revealing her diary. “I didn’t want to do it this way, Care Bear. You know that about me. But I had to get inside your place to try to find answers for why you keep running off.”
She swallowed a wave of fear and faced him but couldn’t find her voice.
“Johnny’s been dead for a while. Now you’re here … with me. ” His massive body loomed over her. “I’d be willing to forget that you ever picked that loser. We could start fresh. Come on, beautiful, I can help you.”
Help me?
The only person Mike wanted to help was himself—right into her bed.
“Please … leave me alone.”
His steely grin unnerved her, and silence fell in the midst of the bar’s noise. Thoughts of how to escape him exploded in her mind like fireworks shooting out in all directions. But before she could focus, they disappeared into the darkness, leaving only trails of smoke. Fear seemed to take on its own life form, one threatening to stalk her forever.
He tapped her diary. “I know it all now, even where you’d hide if you ran again, which is
not
happening, right?” The threatening tone in his voice was undeniable, and panic stole her next breath. “I know your daughter just as well as you do now. What happens if I show up one day after school with a puppy named Shamu?”
Cara’s legs gave way. Without any effort he held her up by her elbow.
After she’d spent years of hide-and-seek in hopes of protecting Lori, now he knew Lori’s name, her school, her likes and dislikes. Shaking, she looked around for help. Bottles of various sizes and shapes filled the bar’s shelves. The television blared. Blank faces stared at it. The man who had given her the hundred-dollar bill glanced at her before turning to another waitress.
Apathy hung in the air, like smog in summer, reminding her that there was no help for people like her and Lori. On a good day there were distractions that made them forget for a few hours. Even as her mind whirled, life seemed to move in slow motion. She had no one.
“You know how I feel about you.” His voice softened to a possessive whisper, making her skin crawl. “Why do you gotta make this so tough?” Mike ran his finger down the side of her neck. “My patience is gone, Care Bear.”
Where could she hide now? Somewhere she could afford that he wouldn’t know about and couldn’t track her to. A piece of a memory—washed in colorless fog—wavered before her like a sheet on a clothesline.
An apron. A head covering. An old woman. Rows of tall corn.
He dug his fingers into her biceps. Pain shot through her, and the disjointed thoughts disappeared. “Don’t you dare leave again. I’ll find you. You know I can … every time.” His eyes reflected that familiar mixture of spitefulness and uncertainty as he willed her to do his bidding. “I call the shots. Not you. Not dear old Johnny. Me.”
But maybe he didn’t. A tender sprig of hope took root. If she could latch on to that memory—if it was even real—she might have a place to go. Somewhere Mike couldn’t find her and she wouldn’t owe anyone her life in exchange for food and shelter. Doubts rippled through her, trying to dislodge her newfound hope. It was probably a movie she’d watched. Remembering any part of her life, anything true, before her mama died seemed as impossible as getting free of Mike. She’d been only eight when her mother was killed by a hit-and-run driver as she crossed a street. Things became so hard after that, anything before seemed like shadows and blurs.
As she begged for answers, faint scenes appeared before her. A kitchen table spread with fresh food. A warm breeze streaming through an unfamiliar window. Sheets flapping on a clothesline. Muffled laughter as a boy jumped into a creek.
Was it just a daydream? Or was it somewhere she’d once been, a place she couldn’t reach because she couldn’t remember?
Her heart raced. She had to find the answer.
Mike pulled the phone from her hand, a sneer overriding the insecurity he tried hard to cover. “You’re more afraid of one thing than anything else. And I know what that is.” He eased the receiver into its cradle and flipped the diary open. “If you don’t want nothing to cause the social workers to take her …” He tapped his huge finger on a photo of Lori. “Think about it, Care Bear. And I’ll see you at your place when your shift is over.” He strode out the door.
Cara slumped against the counter. No matter how hard she tried, she landed in the same place over and over again—in the clutches of a crazy man.
In spite of the absurdity of it, she longed for a cigarette. It would help her think and calm her nerves.
Clasped in her fist was the cash the two men had given for their drinks. She rubbed it between her fingers. If she slipped out the back door, no one at Mac’s would have a clue where she went. She could pick up Lori and disappear.
PLAIN
WISDOM
Excerpted from
Plain Wisdom
by Cindy Woodsmall and Miriam Flaud Copyright © 2011 by Cindy Woodsmall and Miriam Flaud.
Excerpted by permission of WaterBrook Press, a division of
Random House, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
I
NTRODUCTION
I
n 2001 Miriam and I lived seven hundred miles apart geographically—but a century apart by customs. Miriam is an Old Order Amish woman trying to keep the Old Ways and avoid modernization. I am a typical American woman trying to keep up with the constant changes in technology while meeting the expectations of society, church, parents, and peers. We didn’t know each other, but we had a mutual friend, and because of her, Miriam and I talked on the phone occasionally and shared letters regularly.
When Miriam invited me to visit her in 2002, I had no way of knowing how much we’d have in common. As our friendship grew, we began to realize that we’ve had many of the same life experiences, and we have approached them in faith and with some trepidation. Between us, we’ve given birth to nine babies—four we’ve ushered into adulthood; the others are now older teens or preteens. And both of us are still standing. Our cultural differences are vast; the more time I spend with Miriam, the more I realize just how different. Yet our methods for emotionally and spiritually dealing with life and work are remarkably similar.
In the visits since 2002, as we sat together, hedged in by her lilac bushes and sipping on coffee, a dream began to grow inside us. We wanted to share with other women our victories and defeats, what had and hadn’t worked for us, and to encourage them by being real and vulnerable. Our friendship has shown us that whatever culture we live in, successes are possible … and failures are inevitable, but they’re never final when placed in His hands.
As women we easily believe in the worth of a newborn, who can give nothing and takes much. We hold fast to hope for our children’s future, even for those teens who fight us every step of the way. We can see our friends’ lives through the eyes of faith. Yet when we think of ourselves, we often wallow in unforgiveness, self-loathing, and feelings of inadequacy.
Our desire is to help you embrace the beauty of the life God has given you. We wrote
Plain Wisdom
to encourage you to accept yourself, forgive yourself, challenge yourself, laugh at yourself, and, most important, see yourself through God’s eyes of love. For when you do, you will find the freedom to truly enjoy your life.
Plain Wisdom
is a collection of events in our lives—from early childhood to just a few months ago—and lessons we’ve learned, insights we’ve discovered, words of wisdom, Amish recipes, pictures of the Amish culture, and even a touch of Amish and “Englischer,” or English (non-Amish), humor. In some cases we draw the lessons from our stories; at other times we’ll let the events speak for themselves, allowing the Holy Spirit to whisper to readers’ hearts through the details.
Our hope and prayer are that these memories will encourage and strengthen you as you create memories within your friend and family circles.
MEET MIRIAM
AND CINDY
Then Peter opened his mouth, and said, Of a truth I perceive that God is no respecter of persons: but in every nation he that feareth him, and worketh righteousness, is accepted with him.
—A
CTS 10: 34–35
From Miriam
In the early eighteenth century, my ancestors crossed the Atlantic Ocean, traveling from Switzerland to America to escape persecution for their religious beliefs. As an Old Order Amish woman, I call myself the “Plain” part of
Plain Wisdom
. (Perhaps that makes Cindy the “Wisdom” part.)
I was born in St. Mary’s County in southern Maryland, the third of seven children. When I was a year old, we moved to Adams County, Pennsylvania. My home was always filled with family from both my mom’s and my dad’s sides. Then, when I was eleven, my parents bought a farm in the neighboring Franklin County. Today my husband and I live on the farm where he grew up, which is within walking distance of my parents’ place.
When one is born into an Amish household, he or she is expected to remain Amish and eventually join the church. The youth are encouraged to join the faith in their teen years. For me, like for most Amish youth, the question wasn’t, would I join? but rather, when would I take that step? So when the desire and the appropriate age came together, I, along with six other young women and six young men, took the first steps by attending instruction classes. A church leader teaches instruction classes, and, similar to courses held by other faiths, the purpose of instruction is to clarify the founding principles and scriptures of our faith. The lessons begin in late spring and continue throughout the summer. Meanwhile, I was courted by a handsome young man named Daniel Flaud, who was from the same youth group and church. The following year we were married. Eighteen months later we were blessed with our first son. As the years went by, we had four more sons and a daughter. Now, nearly thirty years later, our family has welcomed three daughters-in-law and five grandchildren.
I’ve enjoyed my life inside one of the most structured societies in the United States. I haven’t always known what to do, agreed with the rules, or handled situations with wisdom. But I’ve experienced the abundant joys as well as the occasional frustration our lifestyle brings.
Often when we meet people, we see our own lives differently—perhaps better in some ways and worse in others. Sometimes we choose to stay inside our familiar circles so we can avoid the discomforts that are a part of building new friendships. Cindy’s world was so very different than mine. Sophisticated. Filled with technology. And by my Plain standards, it was worldly. I invite you to come along as I prepared to welcome her into my home.
From Cindy
Some of you know me as the author of fiction books with Amish settings and characters. But, like Miriam, my family roots trace back to Europe (specifically to Scotland), and my ancestors landed in America in the mid–seventeen hundreds. I was born in Washington DC, the youngest child in a family of four. When my parents were growing up, their family lives were tough, and they had almost no support. But when they married in their teenage years, they were determined to beat the odds and make a success out of their lives.
My family moved frequently when I was growing up. My dad would buy an old home in need of repair, and he and Mom would fix it up while living in it. Then they would sell it, and the process would start all over again. No matter where we lived, my vivid imagination constantly wove fictional stories of family life, romance, and conflict.
The summer between my eighth-and ninth-grade years in school, my family moved from Maryland to Alabama. Because of that move, I eventually met and married Tommy. A few years after that, we had our first son, and I became a full-time homemaker. Two years later I gave birth to our second son. I homeschooled our two boys through middle school, and we welcomed a third son into our home in 1994.
Throughout the years my mind had continued to devise fictional stories, but I was never willing to invest time in writing them. The story ideas were ceaseless, and, in hopes of quieting them, I began writing as a hobby in 1999. In 2002 I attended my first writers’ conference and then fell in love with the whole writing process.
I’ve enjoyed the freedom and opportunity granted to American women—whether it was choosing what church to attend, how to school our children, or what career path to take. But like Miriam, I haven’t always known what to do, agreed with all the rules that bound me, or handled every situation with wisdom. I, too, have experienced the abundant joys of my lifestyle as well as the frustrations.
One of the great blessings in my life is having been invited into Miriam’s home and into her life. Neither of us could have imagined what that initial visit would lead to as I anxiously went from my world into hers.
Come, travel with me as I entered her world for the first time.
