Unbreakable (4 page)

“Every time you tell that story I find myself wishing I'd known how you felt. Maybe I would have wanted to get married a long time ago.”

He laughed warmly and kissed me on the nose. “That's all right. You've made up for any slight from our childhood.”

“I'm glad.”

Ebbie smiled at me once more and then walked out the door.

After it closed behind him, I found myself comparing him to Jonathon. Ebbie was thin and lacked Jonathon's muscular physique. The two men were opposites in most other ways as well. Jonathon was confident and personable, whereas Ebbie was quiet and reserved, a deep thinker. Yet sometimes, when he got excited about something, he reminded me of an overenthusiastic child. The simplest things fascinated him. His zest for life wasn't something most people got to see, but I'd been blessed to know the real Ebbie. Although I couldn't say I'd fallen in love when we were young, I'd always felt comfortable around him. Perhaps that was one of the reasons it was so easy to love him now.

Even though Papa suggested I close early, I knew there were still chores to be done, so I got busy. Being alone in the quilt shop made me feel peaceful and happy. I carefully polished the wooden table and four chairs that Papa had crafted. I'd
spent many happy hours sitting there, giving lessons in quilting to some of the young women in Kingdom. The pleasant scent of lemon oil filled the room. Then I got a feather duster and dusted the display window next to the door, carefully removing the quilts I'd made and shaking them out. Once they were back in place, I dusted all the shelves that held quilt patterns, colorful spools of thread, embroidery floss, quilting pins, and needles.

I found the quilting and embroidery loops in disorder and wondered if Sophie Wittenbauer had left them in a mess. I usually had to straighten up after one of her visits. Sophie, the daughter of Elmer and Dorcas Wittenbauer, was a young woman with a bad attitude. It was hard to get angry at her though. Her parents showed very little interest in their daughter. Elmer had once been an elder in the church but had withdrawn when Lizzie's father and John Lapp resigned. In my opinion, Elmer should never have been elected in the first place.

I sighed as I dusted the shelf, and then I neatly restacked the hoops. When I was done, I gazed around the large room and sighed contentedly. Kingdom Quilts was like my second home, and I couldn't imagine not having it in my life.

After I put the duster away, I carefully wiped down the large cutting table that sat in the middle of the room. I'd just cleaned the large quilting frame in the back room yesterday and knew it didn't need attention today. It was almost time to schedule another group quilting party. I so enjoyed those times when some of our women gathered to sew quilts, to fellowship and laugh together. Lizzie always provided cookies and coffee for these unique social events, especially since
her mother usually joined our group. Most of the time the quilts we made went to a new mother in our community or to someone in the hospital.

As I went through and sorted out the week's receipts, I struggled to put the terrifying confrontation on the road out of my mind, but it was impossible. How could someone who didn't even know me be so careless with God's precious gift of life? Could a fellow human being's heart really be that dark? It didn't make sense. Nor did Papa's attitude toward Jonathon. Basically, Papa agreed with almost all the changes going on in our church. He'd even painted the outside of our store a beautiful cornflower blue after Pastor Mendenhall pointed out that God must like colors since he used so many of them in nature. That was all it took for Papa. Once he had a clear picture of something, he had no trouble following his heart. Jonathon was exactly the same way. As far as I could remember, he had never said anything that didn't agree with Papa's views. The situation on the road and Papa's attitude toward Jonathon bothered me the rest of the afternoon.

Avery Menninger, who owned the saddle and tack store, stopped by around three thirty. “How are you this afternoon, Sister Kauffman?” he said as he came in the door.

“I'm fine. And you?” This was the same greeting we exchanged every afternoon. It never varied. A kind man who'd lost his wife many years ago and whose daughter had moved away to get married, Avery spent quite a bit of time visiting folks in town before going home to his lonely house.

“Well, fair to middlin'. Just fair to middlin'. Bursitis is kickin' up a bit, but that's to be expected, I guess. Gettin' old ain't a lotta fun.”

“I'll keep you in my prayers, Brother Menninger.” Sometimes his personality seemed a little gruff, but when you got to know him, you could clearly see his soft heart. Whenever anyone needed help, Avery was the first person on the scene.

“I appreciate that, Sister.” He cleared his throat and held out a paper bag. “Sister Hobson dropped off a whole load of oatmeal cookies this morning. I thought you might like a few.”

Sister Hobson had set her cap for Avery years ago, believing the way to his heart was through his stomach. So far it hadn't worked, but she persisted and Avery allowed it, probably because she was an incredible cook. Her oatmeal cookies almost melted in your mouth. Someone might have pointed out to Avery that stringing her along wasn't completely ethical, but they both seemed happy. Sister Hobson had hope, and Avery had lots of home cooking. We shared a couple of cookies together, visited for a while, and then he left.

I decided to take Papa's advice and close the shop a little early. I'd finished all the chores I'd set out to do, and I wanted nothing more than to take a quick nap on the cot in the back room. But before I could lock the door, it swung open and Sophie Wittenbauer sauntered in.

“Hello, Hope,” she said loudly. Even her voice was irritating. Nasal, whiny, and impudent all at the same time.

“Hello, Sophie,” I said evenly. “I'm about to close. . . .”

She didn't appear to hear me, or if she did, she ignored me. “I need this order filled.” She shoved a crumpled dirty sheet of paper across the counter toward me. “My mother says you need to take this fabric back and exchange it for what's on that list.” She reached into the filthy bag she held in her hands and pulled out a wrinkled piece of fabric, dumping
it in front of me. I immediately recognized it. I'd sold it to Sophie several weeks ago. Or what was left of it anyway. It was now about half the size of the original piece, and it was stained with something that looked like grape juice. This wasn't the first time Dorcas had tried to return supplies she'd either ruined or had left over and didn't need. At first I'd refused to refund her money or give her a replacement, but Papa intervened, explaining that the Wittenbauers had little money and needed our help. That might be true, but since their circumstances were caused by their own carelessness and refusal to work, I felt they should reap what they sowed.

The church had helped them out many times, yet when work was offered or they were asked to help others in our town, the Wittenbauers always had an excuse. Their lack of community spirit wasn't viewed with much patience. A sense of kinship and willingness to help others was the foundation of life for a Mennonite. Eventually the church's eagerness to extend charity had dwindled. Except for Papa's. With his voice ringing in my head, I silently took the ruined cloth and filled Sophie's order.

Even though she exasperated me, it was hard not to feel sorry for her. The girl was nearsighted and needed glasses but was forced to wear her father's castoffs. The large black-framed spectacles looked ridiculous and did nothing to help her appearance. Her lifeless dishwater-blond hair was twisted into a messy bun, and loose strands stuck out from underneath a dirty black prayer covering. Sophie wore only black dresses, and it seemed as if she only owned one. It was usually soiled and always wrinkled.

Yet underneath her messy exterior, I recognized a distinct
beauty that had little chance of being noticed. Her large amber eyes appeared almost golden in the light and were framed by thick, dark lashes. Her full lips and cheeks were naturally rosy. Since her overall demeanor didn't convey a sense of good health, the flawlessness of her skin and the color in her cheeks were surprising. I couldn't help but wonder what Sophie would look like if she cleaned up, got glasses that fit her, and wore a light-colored dress.

Of course, saying something to her about her looks was out of the question. Sophie wasn't the kind of person who welcomed personal comments or even attempts at kindness. Somehow she managed to look pitiful and still come across as proud and independent. I couldn't figure out how she managed it, but every time I started to feel sorry for her, as I did now, she'd do something to infuriate me. Today was no different.

“Have you seen Jonathon Wiese around anywhere?” she asked, her voice like fingernails on a chalkboard.

I shrugged as I handed her the brand-new fabric and threads. “I saw him earlier, but I have no idea where he is now. Sorry.” I had no intention of telling her about my encounter on the road. In a town the size of Kingdom she'd find out about it soon enough. She'd probably be sorry the driver of the red truck had missed his mark.

She turned her head sideways and peered up at me. “Jonathon told me I'm his best friend.” She gave me an odd grin and waited for my reaction. She smelled unwashed, and I fought an urge to gag.

“That's wonderful, Sophie. I'm glad.” I looked at our clock. “I've got to close now, but it was nice to see you.”

Liar!
I heard my own voice in my head, accusing me of being dishonest. I silently repented.

“Jonathon tells me things he doesn't tell anyone else, you know.”

I smiled at her, willing her to go away. It didn't work.

Finally, after a strange staring contest that I lost, she grabbed her bag. “Some people need to leave him alone. He doesn't like girls who chase him.” With that, she flounced out of the store, leaving me standing behind the counter with my mouth open. What in the world was wrong with that girl? As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I felt ashamed. It was pretty obvious what her problem was: parents who didn't care about her and only used her to fulfill their own selfish purposes.

Well, at least thinking about Sophie had gotten my mind off other things. I looked at the clock again and realized that Papa could be back anytime. I hurried to the back room, washed my hands, and checked out my image one last time. Sighing at my washed-out complexion, I pinched my cheeks, hoping for some color. Lizzie had remarked more than once about my “flawless alabaster skin,” but the truth was, I looked ghostly and pale compared to her. Lizzie had coal-black hair, and mine was colorless, almost white. The only feature of mine that stood out was my eyes. Ebbie said they reminded him of the purple tulips his mother grew in front of their house. And Papa said I have my mother's eyes. I can barely remember her face now, but I do recall her incredible violet eyes.

I removed my prayer covering so I could tuck in stray strands of hair that had already escaped from my quickly formed bun. Once my hair felt in place, I put the covering back on. Quite
a few of the younger women had stopped wearing them during the day, saving them for church. I couldn't help but envy them. It would be so nice to go without it sometimes, but keeping my prayer covering was one thing my father insisted on. Most of our older members felt the same way. So for now, the covering would stay. At least I'd been able to switch to a white cap instead of the black one I'd worn all my life. And Papa had allowed me to start wearing dresses with colors and designs. The dress I'd changed into was light blue with small violet flowers. It looked very pretty with a crisp white apron over it. I sighed, adjusted the ribbons that hung on each side of my cap, and made my way back into the main room in our store. Papa was just coming in the front door.

“Our buggy is in Brother Matthew's building across the street. It will need a lot of repair.” He shook his head. “You could have been badly hurt, Daughter.”

“But thanks to Jonathon, I wasn't,” I reminded him.

He shot me a look of reproach but didn't say anything.

“Maybe we should forget about what happened this afternoon,” I said quickly. “Are you ready for supper? I'm starving.”

Papa frowned at me. “I understand your need to get your mind off today's incident, but we cannot dismiss it completely. There are other Kingdom residents who ride to town on that road. Their safety concerns me.”

His words reminded me of something that had completely slipped my mind. “Papa, I saw John Lapp headed toward Washington before that truck showed up. Until this moment, I'd forgotten about it.”

Papa nodded. “He's fine. He drove past us while we were
retrieving the buggy. But I think we should let everyone in town know what happened to you. Until we are certain it is safe, no one should be out on the main road alone, especially in a buggy.”

“Do you think the men on the road are the same people who've been attacking churches in the county, Papa?” I asked softly. “I'm really not convinced the incidents are connected.”

“I don't know, Daughter,” Papa said slowly, “but I have to admit that I have a bad feeling about this.”

“I'd hate to see our town overreact because of some careless teenager who thought his antics were funny.”

“I understand that, Hope. But what if it was more than that? I think we will all need to be very careful for a while.”

I wanted to bring up Jonathon's idea to gather some people together to try to set up plans to protect Kingdom, but I didn't dare. Papa would never understand, and Jonathon might pay a price for my indiscretion.

“It is nothing for you to worry about,” Papa said firmly. “This is something Pastor Mendenhall and the elders will have to address. I do not have the solution.”

“Papa,” I said slowly, “Flo asked me a question I couldn't answer, and I want to ask how you would have responded.”