The Quilter's Daughter (31 page)

As the train pulled into Whitefish, Montana, Abby breathed a sigh of relief. It had been a long two-day journey, and she was exhausted not only from the trip, but from being forced to make conversation with Edna. The only time the woman didn’t talk was when she was asleep.

Abby knew her mother’s cousin was trying to be friendly, but Edna’s silly jokes and idle chatter grated on Abby’s nerves.
Another thing that had set her nerves on edge was the cowboy sitting a few seats away. She’d caught him staring at her on several occasions, and a couple of times he’d tried to make conversation. Edna said the man was probably lonely or curious about their Plain clothes, but the way his dark eyes bore into Abby made her feel uneasy.

She shivered thinking about all the questions the cowboy, who’d said his name was Bill Collins, had asked her. She’d not given him any more information than her name, where she was from, and where she and Edna were going. Truth was, he seemed more interested in talking about himself, and he’d told her that he’d been traveling to various rodeos across the United States ever since he had graduated from high school. Bill said he was going to Whitefish to visit a relative, and then would be boarding the train again to go to McCall, Idaho, where his folks lived. Unlike most Englishers, the cowboy admitted that he hated to fly and preferred to travel by bus or train.

Abby couldn’t imagine traveling all over the country, much less living the life of a rodeo cowboy. Until her trip to Pennsylvania, she’d never been out of the state of Ohio. This trip to Montana seemed like a real adventure. One she’d rather not be a part of.

When the train came to a stop, Abby slipped out of her seat and reached overhead to open the luggage compartment where their carry-on items were stowed.

“Let me help you with those,” the cowboy offered as he stepped up beside her.

“I—I can manage.” Abby quickly pulled Edna’s black satchel out and handed it to her.

“Danki,” Edna said as she scooted over to the seat Abby had previously occupied.

Abby reached for her own carry-on and noticed that the strap was wrapped around someone else’s piece of luggage, which was near the back of the compartment and out of her reach. She struggled with it a few seconds, until she felt someone touch her shoulder. When she turned around, she realized the cowboy still stood there wearing a silly-looking grin on his face.

“I’m taller than you and can reach that better,” he drawled. “Besides, it’s my bag your strap’s stuck on, so it’s my duty to free it for you.”

“I’m sure I can get it,” she argued.

“Let the nice man help,” Edna said. “Our driver’s probably waitin’ inside the station, and we don’t want to keep him any longer than necessary.”

With a shrug, Abby stepped aside. She knew Edna was anxious to see her sister-in-law. Truth be told, she, too, would be glad once they were headed for Rexford and the Amish community they would be visiting. At least there she wouldn’t feel so out of place, and she wouldn’t have to deal with any overfriendly cowboys.

A few seconds later, the man handed Abby her satchel and retrieved his as well.

“Danki—I mean, thank you.” She stepped farther into the aisle so Edna could join her.

Bill nodded. “Glad to be of service, ma’am. Will ya be needin’ help with your other bags?”

Edna opened her mouth as if to say something, but Abby cut her off. “No thanks. I’m sure our driver will help us gather the ones we checked through.”

“All right then. You ladies have a nice drive to Rexford.” Bill tipped his hat and gave Abby a quick wink. “It’s been nice meetin’ ya.”

“And you as well,” Edna said.

Abby merely nodded and hurried to exit the train. The sooner she got away from Cowboy Bill, the better she would feel.

A
bby couldn’t get over all the trees that scattered the hills and bordered Lake Koocanusa in the Kootenai National Forest of northern Montana. Tim Hayes, their middle-aged driver who was an English neighbor of Elizabeth’s, had informed his passengers that there were a variety of trees in the area—noble fir, stately pine, tamarack, and cedar. Homes made of logs dotted the land, and Tim was quick to point out that the local Amish men had made some of them. “In fact,” he said, as they drove past the general store, run by an Amish family, “building log homes is how a few of the Amish men support themselves. Others make log-type furniture, which is a good business for many of them.”

“I hear that the yearly Amish auction also brings money into the community,” Edna commented.

He nodded. “That’s true. The auction’s held in June, and more than a thousand people come to West Kootenai to buy and sell that day.”

Edna glanced at Abby as they sat in the back seat of Tim’s minivan, and she smiled. “Your mamm might be interested in sendin’ some of her quilts to be auctioned off, don’t ya think?”

Abby’s only response was a quick shrug. She had come here with the hope of getting away from quilts and didn’t want to think about them, much less talk about the ones in her mother’s quilt shop.

“This is Elizabeth King’s place,” Tim said, as he pulled onto a graveled driveway and stopped in front of a small log home set well off the main road. “She’d have ridden with me to
Whitefish, but I had a few stops to make along the way, and I guess Elizabeth thought she could use that time getting ready for her two houseguests instead of waiting on me.” He chuckled and massaged the top of his balding head. “She’s quite an independent woman, living here by herself and doing some teaching at the Amish one-room schoolhouse in the past.”

Abby looked over at Edna. “I thought you’d mentioned that your sister-in-law is married and has a little boy.”

Edna’s pale eyebrows drew together. “Jah, but Dan and their son Abe were killed a few years ago. Don’t you remember, as we traveled here I told you the story of how the car they were riding in slid on a patch of ice and was hit by a truck.”

Abby’s brain felt dull and fuzzy. Truth be told, she remembered very little of what Edna had said to her on the train.

“Oh, there’s Elizabeth now,” Edna said excitedly. Without waiting for Abby to respond, she opened the van door and hopped out.

Abby watched out the side window as Edna ran up the path and was greeted with a hug by a tall, dark-haired woman who looked to be in her late thirties.

“I’ll get your luggage,” Tim said, looking over his shoulder.

Abby nodded and drew in a deep breath. Whether she liked it or not, it was time to meet Elizabeth King.

“Slow down, Mom. I can’t understand what you’re saying.” Jim shifted his cell phone from one ear to the other as he moved away from two of his painters who worked in the hallway of a new apartment complex on the east side of Puyallup.

“I said your father hasn’t been feeling well, but he refuses to see the doctor.” She sniffed. “Will you talk to him, Jim? He’d be more apt to listen to you than he would me.”

“Sure, Mom. I’ll give him a call when I get home from work this evening.”

“I wish you and the family could come here for a visit. You and Dad used to be so close, and I’m sure if he saw you he wouldn’t say no to your suggestion that he see the doctor.”

Jim grimaced. He cared about his dad and would do his best to talk him into going in for a physical, but he’d have to do it by phone. Besides, knowing Mom, she was probably making more of this than there really was. In all likelihood, Dad only had a touch of the flu. Give the man a few more days, and he’d probably be good as new.

“Look, Mom,” Jim said patiently, “I can tell that you’re worried, but it’s impossible for me to get away right now. I promise I’ll call Dad as soon as I get home.”

“If you’re short on money, I’d be happy to pay for your plane ticket,” she offered.

He cringed. Didn’t his mother realize he was making a good living at his profession? Did she think he was too poor to buy a plane ticket and that was the reason he hadn’t been back to Ohio since they’d gotten Jimmy?
If Mom only had an inkling of the real reason I’ve stayed away from home. What would she think if she knew her son was a kidnapper who’d taken an Amish baby from Pennsylvania?
Jim knew he was probably being paranoid by refusing to visit his folks. After all, Millersburg, Ohio, was several hours from Lancaster, Pennsylvania. Still, Amish people lived there, and one of them might know Jimmy’s real family. If someone saw Jimmy and recognized him. . .

“Jim? Did you hear what I said? I’d be happy to—”

“I can afford the ticket, Mom. I’m busy right now with a couple of big paint jobs, and since Dad’s not critically ill, I see no reason to make the trip. Maybe this summer we can come for a visit,” Jim lied.
Tell her what she wants to hear and she’ll get off my back. That usually works with Linda
.

“Your father could be dead by then.” There was a brief pause. “Oh, I wish we had stayed in Boise and not moved to Ohio. He surely could have found a job as a high-school principal in Idaho as easy as here.”

He lifted his gaze to the ceiling. A ceiling that still needed to be painted.

“Jim, are you there?”

He blew out his breath. “Yes, Mom, I’m still here.”

“I guess if you’re not willing to talk to your dad in person, I’ll
have to be satisfied with a phone call.” There was another pause. “Please don’t tell him I called about this.”

“I won’t even mention that we talked.”

“Thanks, son.”

“Let me know what the doctor says.”

“I will. Good-bye, Jim.”

“Bye, Mom.”

Jim clicked the phone off and slipped it inside the leather case he wore on his belt. He was sure there was nothing to worry about, but he would feel better once he talked to Dad.

Linda paced the living room floor as she waited for Jim. His foreman had called around six o’clock, saying Jim wouldn’t be coming home for dinner and that he wasn’t sure when they would be done for the day. It irritated Linda that her husband couldn’t have told her himself. Avoidance seemed to be the way he dealt with things these days.

She glanced at the grandfather clock on the opposite wall. It was almost nine, and she’d put Jimmy to bed half an hour ago. “This is ridiculous,” she fumed. “It’s bad enough that Jim has worked every Saturday for the past two months, but lately he’s been working so many long hours, he has no time to spend with Jimmy.” A lump lodged in her throat, and she blinked against the smarting tears that threatened to spill over.

Linda sank to the couch and picked up her Bible from the coffee table. She turned to another passage her pastor had recently given her—this one in Lamentations—and read it aloud. “ ‘The L
ORD
is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him.’ Lamentations 3:25.” She closed her eyes.
At least I know I’ll always have You, Jesus. If only Jim would see his need, too
.

When a car door slammed shut, her eyes snapped open. A few minutes later Jim appeared, dressed in his white painter’s overalls and wearing a matching hat. “Sorry I’m late, but we ran into a problem with the paint we were using.”

She left the couch and rushed to his side. “Did your mother get hold of you? I gave her your cell phone number when she
called here earlier today.”

Jim nodded and ran his fingers along the white speckles of paint dotting his chin.